


Midlife Clarity

by satorumiyuki



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood Magic, Developing Relationship, Eddie Kaspbrak Gets Divorced, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie flirts with masochism, Eddie's canon enjoyment of dying, Emotional Support, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First year of Reddie's relationship, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Guilt, Infidelity, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Myra with NPD, Not Myra Kaspbrak Friendly, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reddie road trip with Mike, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, The Losers Club Love Each Other (IT), The Turtle CAN Help Us (IT), This is firstly a Reddie fic and secondly a Mike Hanlon appreciation fic, Weddings, every combo of top/bottom tender/rough, extremely small side of benverly with a slowburn bike simmering in the background, guardian angel Stan, overcoming emotional abuse, the only thing bigger than Richie's dick is his insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 132,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satorumiyuki/pseuds/satorumiyuki
Summary: People usually have to pay for this kind of mental clarity. It's the kind of thing he sees promoted on billboards through expensive seminars, the kind of thing people who backpack around the world or spend a year meditating in a monastery talk about but all Eddie had to do was die. Now all that's left is to chase that feeling for the rest of his life - which is maybe easier said than done.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Richie Tozier & Eddie Kaspbrak
Comments: 70
Kudos: 95





	1. Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Gather round ghosts, ghouls, and fools and get out your Reddie Fix-IT bingo cards. I haven’t read all the fix its because I was too eager to try my own so any similarities are accidental. I’m sorry if this is redundant. For characterization I went with a blend of book and movie Eddie. If you haven’t read the book Eddie says things like “apple-solutely” and drinks deeply from his loving and caring about his friends gin and prune juice but I also love the harder, sassier, more high-strung movie Eddie so hopefully I did ok blending them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features Eddie’s book canonical enjoyment of dying, but don’t worry he gets better, literal guardian angel Stan, very brief mention that Eddie grew up going to a Methodist church (from the book but there's no religious themes here), and both turtle and blood magic. Also the ease with which movie Eddie said “bro” and “dude” is in here because it’s delightful and hilarious. What an icon. 
> 
> Chapter title from the song Far From Home (The Raven) by Sam Tinnesz which almost made me cry the first time I heard it because I got hit by Stan feelings.

_If I could do what I want_

_I would become an electrician_

_I’d climb inside my ears_

_and I would rearrange the wires in my brain_

Happy to Be Here - Julien Baker

Dying isn’t that bad. Most things he’s been afraid of haven’t been bad in actuality. It seems immensely foolish now, having been so afraid of dying; he supposes the pain was what he was really afraid of, the possibility of withering away slowly in agony but the whole thing had passed surprisingly quickly. It hadn’t even hurt that badly. Now there is no pain, no fear, just an overwhelming sense of ease. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. It’s freeing. For the first time in his existence he’s truly free.

He’s floating in inky blackness, wrapped in calm. The blackness changes in the blink of an eye except he hasn’t blinked, he doesn’t need to anymore, one of the perks of being dead. Suddenly there are twinkling stars and colorful galaxies in every direction, swirls of purple and orange, distant plumes of smokey light that look like clouds. It’s infinite. It’s beautiful. He wouldn’t mind floating here for...however long he’s allowed to. 

How does time work after death? He’s never put much thought into it other than the vague idea that heaven and hell are supposed to be _eternal_ , that’s what they taught at the Derry Methodist Church his mother used to bring him to. But Eddie has never been able to wrap his mind around the concept of eternity; he tried once when he was young. He could feel it in his bones, that he would be there, living with his mother, for eternity but that had been wrong because one day she died and after four years of living in limbo Eddie had left one eternity, eternity with his mother, for a different but painfully familiar one, but that had ended too - in the dark under Derry. He doubts the human mind is equipped to understand eternity but staring at the infinite field of galaxies he thinks he wouldn’t mind spending eternity here feeling the kind of peace he couldn’t even dream of in his wildest fantasies. Fantasizing had never been his strong suit - his mother had shot down every fantasy he’d let slip from his mouth with whispers of _it’s too dangerous Eddie_ , _you’ll get hurt Eddie_ , and then Myra had done the same. Eddie doesn’t need anyone to tell him the depths of his imagination is dangerous territory, he knows that, but that’s over now, there’s no more danger, there's only light. 

The light is warm and it smells like summer, like cut grass and the barrens and the clubhouse and somehow his old bike he was too short for but rode with dogged determination even if he tipped over sometimes when it was time to dismount. He turns his face towards it. He’s ready. This must be the end of the line. What comes next he doesn’t know or particularly care about. Usually he needs to know every single detail of what’s going to happen so he feels less anxious but that seems silly now. Why did he ever bother spending so much of his time worrying about everything when he could have been this at peace? 

A figure emerges from the light, a tall familiar shape that makes his soul ache because he remembers a late summer day, the grass tickling his legs and Beverly saying he looked the same as an adult, just taller and that had been a lie because she hadn’t seen him in her vision of the future - but she was still right. 

“Hey Eddie,” he says. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Stan,” Eddie breathes - a purely emotional response because he’s definitely beyond the need for oxygen at this point. “We missed you, man.” He envelopes Stan in a tight hug and Stan hugs back, patting his back. There’s no real physical sensation but that doesn’t seem to be a problem, it’s the thought that counts here and in some deeper place than his skin he can feel it, Stan’s arms around him. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, his brows creased with worry. His face is the same beautiful face he remembers from their childhood, Eddie can’t look away. 

“It’s ok,” Eddie says. He wishes he could erase that look off Stan’s face. “I’m happy to see you, dude. I wish the others got to meet you. This is fucking wild. How are you?”

“How am I?” Stan asks, an amused look replacing the worry. “I’m...I’m fine, Eddie. I’m fine now. It’s been a weird couple days,” Stan says and Eddie can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah man, you could say that.”

“I was there with all of you,” Stan says, his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, his eyes intense. “I was too scared to come back but then I had to face it again anyway.”

The revelation makes Eddie reel. He can’t imagine what that would have been like. “Oh fuck. Stan. I’m sorry, man. It fucking sucked, didn’t it?” 

“I wasn’t scared. Not how I thought I’d be,” Stan says, looking down at Eddie. He got so tall. “I was scared for y'all, I wished I could help.”

“ _Y’all?_ ” Eddie laughs. 

“Shut up. I’ve lived in Georgia for years. You have no room to talk, _New Yorker._ At least I’ve never called a child an asshole.” 

“You saw that? Shit, this is crazy,” Eddie laughs again but it dies on his lips when he meets Stan’s eyes again. “I missed you so much, dude. I wish...I wish you’d been there. For real. It’s…”

“I know,” Stan says. “Believe me, I know.” 

“We were always strongest together.” Eddie’s phantom throat feels tight. “We would have protected you.” 

“That’s kind of funny coming from a dead man,” Stan smiles, his face softening. 

“I don’t mind,” Eddie swallows the phantom lump. “I got to save Richie. That’s all that matters, I just wanted to…” 

“I know, Eddie. But you’re not done.” 

“Not done?” Eddie doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore but he feels the echo of one in his chest. 

“Look, some good came from my death. I get to save you,” Stan smiles again, his eyes full of the same deep wisdom he had in his youth. 

And then the pain returns. It’s dark, Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever been in such darkness. All he wants is to be back in the star filled sky where nothing hurts. He’s not moving of his own volition, someone is jostling him around in the dark and it _hurts_ but he can’t get words out to tell them to knock it the fuck off. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” he tells Stan when he’s back. It makes him want to cry. He was at peace. For once in his anxiety filled existence he was at fucking peace. He’d finally let go. Maybe if his life was _worth_ going back to he’d feel differently but the sad truth is death had been a merciful release.

“You don’t want to live?” Stan asks, his voice deadly quiet. Eddie flinches like Stan slapped him.

“No, I -” 

“I can’t make you live if you don’t want to Eddie,” Stan says.

“I want to live,” Eddie realizes. He’d been so happy to be here, to have it finally over with but he hadn’t been opposed to living before that. “Just not _my_ _fucking life_. My life is fucking -” 

He’s in and out of it. Sometimes everything hurts and he wants to scream and cry but he can’t. He’s alone in the darkness. He doesn’t want to be alone there. But then there’s movement again and more pain, duller than the first time. There are voices sometimes, very distantly he can hear people calling his name. Sometimes it sounds like Richie and he wants to call out to him, wants to tell him he’s ok even though he feels like shit just to ease the pain in his voice. Sometimes the pain ebbs away and Stan is there, talking to him calmly about everything and nothing.

Stan had a life, a loving wife, friends, community, the complete opposite of Eddie’s life. He and Patty had just bought plane tickets to Argentina, he had things to look forward to. It makes Eddie burn with anger and anguish for his friend because the only things Eddie had been even vaguely looking forward to were getting new business cards and the newest season of The Bachelorette. He didn’t have much time to reflect on it but he’d assumed that Stan must have been unhappy, that Mike’s phone call must have been the final straw. It hurts worse that that wasn’t the case.

“I was happy,” Stan says, his smile achingly soft. “But it was always hanging over me. The thing I could only remember for a moment after waking from a nightmare. It was there even when I was happy, just waiting. I was always waiting for something bad to happen. I could feel it coming. It was like living in the eye of a storm.” 

“Isn’t that just anxiety?”

“I guess so,” Stan says. “It felt bigger though. Derry big. If you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Eddie says, studying his face. Stan is here. The real Stan who Eddie loved growing up and still loves now that he remembered him. He shouldn’t be here. “It should be me,” Eddie tells him, a sharp ache in his soul. “I should be the one saving _you_. You had so much to live for, bro. My life is a fucking joke.”

“Then un-fuck it, _bro_ ,” Stan tells him fondly. “You deserve to be alive, Eddie. You deserve to be happy.” 

Eddie knows that’s not how death works. Death isn’t about the deserving and the undeserving. Everyone dies and sometimes it’s unfair but Eddie’s death was definitely not unfair. Still, Stan’s words fill him with a complicated cocktail of emotions - no one has ever told him he deserved to be happy. He’s never thought of himself as deserving happiness, or anything really. 

“So do you! I was never happy, man. I mean, I guess I was sometimes, a long time ago, when we were all together but it’s been fucking years...I don’t remember how to be happy. I was...satisfied sometimes but that’s not fucking happiness, that’s not fucking living. I’m a _zombie_ , Stan I’ve been a fucking zombie for most of my life.” 

“You will be happy, trust me. You’ve already faced your fear, Eddie, and you kicked its ass, just remember that. Remember what you really wanted to tell him.” 

“That’s…” He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. How did Stan know about that?

He feels like a rock at the bottom of the ocean. He can’t move, can’t talk, everything is hazy and heavy. He feels like he’s choking. The lights are painfully bright. There are turtles, so many turtles. 

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he tells Stan, the crushing weight of his life making his phantom lungs feel tight. He doesn’t want to go back to that. He doesn’t want to force himself to be that Eddie again. He feels such deep shame for letting himself be that Eddie for so long. Maybe if he’d remembered everything, maybe he wouldn’t have let himself become that Eddie.

“So tell me. We’ve got time.” 

Stan is a good listener, just like when they were young. He never judges Eddie as he lays everything out in front of him. If he’d felt this comfortable talking to a therapist maybe he’d have worked out his life before he died, maybe he would have walked into Derry with a life worth saving, worth going back to.

“I know what I have to do,” Eddie tells Stan, sitting cross legged across from each other as they float in the peaceful vastness of wherever they are - not even Stan knows. They’re moving, molasses slow, and there’s no feeling under him to confirm it but Eddie has the impression they’re sitting on something massive, something transparent or maybe it’s made of stars. Eddie remembers reading a quote in college about everything being made of stardust and finding it secretly beautiful.

“Good,” Stan encourages. 

“I’m going to stop living the lie. I was so fucking relieved when I got here because it was over but I can take that feeling with me...right? Will I remember how to feel that when I wake up? Will I remember this?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Stan smiles gently. “Take it with you and never let it go.” 

“Things are going to be different,” he promises and Stan looks like he believes him completely. Only one other person has ever looked at Eddie with that much trust, that much faith. The force of the feeling makes him take a shaky breath.

He can’t open his eyes, they feel like they’re glued shut but there’s light behind his eyelids and he can wiggle his fingers and toes a little. He can breathe so he’s not underwater. He feels trapped in some kind of fog but there’s no pain. Fear grips his heart for a moment. Where is everyone? Richie, where’s Richie? Is he even ok? He thinks his name over and over again, trying to get his lips to move. _Richie, Richie, Richie._

“Richie,” he rasps. His throat feels raw and dry. “Richie.” It takes an agonizing moment to hear a response.

“I’m here, Eds.” Relief floods him. _Never stop calling me that_ , he thinks. He can hear Richie’s voice to his side so he turns his head as much as he can towards the sound. There are other sounds too but he can’t make sense of them, not right now. He focuses on the only thing that matters. 

“Richie.” 

“What is it?” he asks and Eddie can hear the tightness in his voice. He tries to lift his hand to him but he can’t. Richie must be close because he slides his hand under Eddie’s hand and Eddie grabs it with all the strength he has. Richie’s hand is big and warm and perfect under his. “Fuck.” It’s as shaky as the hand under his. Eddie can’t get his eyes to open yet but he can hear the pain in his voice. 

“Are we safe?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah,” Richie says, his voice coming out choked. “You’re safe. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t...Don’t cry,” he sighs, trying to fight the pull back to darkness. He needs to tell him the thing he didn’t have a chance to say. The thing he hadn’t been brave enough to say, not even at the end when he could feel himself letting go. “I love you.” 

“Jesus, fuck. I love you too, Eds.” Richie’s hand trembles under his. He laughs but it’s not a real Richie laugh, it’s humorless and wrong and it scares Eddie.

“Stay? Please.” He has so much he wants to tell him but he doesn’t have the energy to right now and his throat feels like he swallowed sandpaper. 

“I won’t leave you,” he promises and Eddie can hear the tightness in his throat. “Never. Fuck. _Eddie._ ” 

Eddie tries to squeeze his hand harder. 

“Is it done? For real this time?” He thinks it’s done, he remembers Richie pulling and dragging him over to the others, the two of them limping together, the disgusting shriveled body of the damn clown, the feel of Its heart in their hands. His vision had already been black at the edges but he thinks they crushed it. Together. All of them. Truly all of them, even if they didn’t know Stan was right there with them. 

“Yeah, it’s done, you did it man.” 

“Good,” Eddie sighs and lets his body relax again. 

“Don’t,” Richie says, suddenly squeezing Eddie’s hand so hard it hurts. “Don’t you fucking leave me, you motherfucker.” 

“It’s ok,” Eddie mumbles. “Stan said...I’m not done.” Eddie has received a lot of conflicting information today about the state of his existence - first Henry Bowers had told him it was his time, then Stan had told him it wasn’t. Fuck Bowers, he’d be nuts to listen to him over Stan. Stan had made it clear though. This is Eddie’s decision and Eddie chooses living. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie says shakily. “Listen to Stan, ok? He was always the smart one.” 

“He said to tell you hi and...you owe him to infinity.” 

“Shit. Tell him hi back,” Richie laughs but it sounds a little hysterical. “Tell him -” 

But Eddie’s faded back out again. 

“He’s never going to pay me back, he never did,” Stan smiles. “I wonder what happened to all those comics I lent him.” 

Stan is proud of him. Eddie can’t remember making anyone proud before. All Eddie ever does is make people worried about him, concerned for him to the point that Eddie is deemed unqualified to care for himself.

“Am I dead when I’m here?” 

“No,” Stan tells him. “You were dead when you first got here but not anymore. You’re healing.”

“You’re dead though,” Eddie says, that ache back in his soul. 

“I noticed,” Stan rolls his eyes playfully and Eddie wishes he could get him in a headlock. “It’s too late for me so don’t worry about it.” 

“Screw you, I’m still going to worry about it, asshole. You’re fucking dead, man. We should all have been together.” 

“We were,” Stan gives him a wry smile. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“I know,” Stan says, his smile turning soft and more genuine. 

Eddie loves him so much it hurts. He would have given up his life for Stan just like he would have given up his life to protect any of the others. He knows Stan feels the same, he told Eddie, but it still makes him feel guilty. Stan is the one that should have been saved. 

“Make it worth it then,” Stan tells him. “Live your life like it’s a gift Eddie. Live like I sacrificed myself for you.” 

“That’s a lot of fucking pressure, dude,” Eddie tells him. “But I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m starting to post this with the word count of my draft in the 100ks just FYI but slowburn is emotional edging and I don’t have the stamina or emotional fortitude to write a reddie slow burn fix-it fic so they get together pretty quickly and easily. It’s not friction-less though, chapter seven is where the bulk of the angst coalesces so if you want some hardship as they figure out how to be together you’ve got that to look forward to. Most of this story is them just being there for each other though, through the first year of their relationship. Also it’s probably obvious but I thought it would be interesting to explore an Eddie who goes into Derry knowing he’s gay but isn’t comfortable with it yet. This chapter was originally a lot sadder but the revisions got less depressing. I hope it still wasn’t too much of a bummer though.


	2. Step One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie is ready for his second chance so he wastes no time, waking to worry about Richie's ass, tell his wife he wants a divorce, bare his soul to Richie, and catch up with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a discussion about infidelity, discussion of being repressed, coming out, an Eddie who has Done Some Shit and already started to experiment with his sexuality, a wildly inaccurate hospital experience, loose-lipped Eddie on morphine, sleep deprived and distressed Richie, hospital love confession, a fast forwarded hospital experience with questionable time jumps, and canon mentions of abuse/assault: book canon mention of Tom Rogan (attempting, in this case) to force Bev’s friend Kay McCall to tell him where Bev is, and Myra Kaspbrak. I’m going to ask everyone to please put on their Emotional Intelligence clown noses for a minute and engage critically with the material in front of you. Book Myra spends her time in the story attempting to emotionally manipulate Eddie through guilt, bribery, and fear and shows zero empathy towards him. Eddie consciously tries not to show weakness in front of her for fear it will be used against him: ‘although Eddie gripped his aspirator, he wouldn’t use it. She would see that as a weakness, one she could use against him.’ He makes a direct comparison to leaving his (abusive) mother’s house: ‘This is like having to leave home all over again, and that had been so hard he’d had to do it three times.’ He thinks of his home as a prison. Almost every word out of her mouth is intended to make Eddie feel too guilty to leave and: ‘Tears had been more than a defense for his mother; they had been a weapon. Myra had rarely used her own tears so cynically...but, cynically or not, he realized she was trying to use them that way now...and she was succeeding.’ She uses his fears against him, telling him he’ll get sick if he leaves and she should come with to take care of him, which is also infantilizing. She tries to physically stop him from leaving. Movie Myra’s time is brief but in their brief interaction she is demeaning/patronizing, and displays an unhealthy need for control. She calls Eddie back to demand he tell her he loves her despite him setting a reasonable boundary. Demanding to be told you’re loved isn’t about affection it’s about exercising control over the other person. Their entire movie interaction is her trying to exert control over him. I’m grateful gaslighting has gained mainstream attention so people are aware of it but it’s not anywhere near the only form emotional abuse takes. Guilt, manipulation, control, and patronizing behavior is all emotional abuse. Do I think she wakes up every day with the intent of abusing her husband? Probably not, but even if it’s unintentional she’s actively using abusive tactics to get what she wants. Which, if we’re not clear, is abusive. Myra is abusive. It’s not even subtext, it’s just text. I chose to explicitly give Myra narcissistic personality disorder in this story because I think there’s enough evidence in the material to interpret her that way. Everything I listed above is pretty standard behavior for someone with NPD. So meet me in the Denny’s parking lot if you think there’s no evidence Myra is abusive.

_And there’s something I’m supposed to say_

_But can’t for the life of me remember what it is_

_And if I could give you the moon_

_I would give you the moon_

_You are sick, and you’re married_

_And you might be dying_

_But you’re holding me like water in your hands_

Moon Song - Phoebe Bridgers

His eyelids are still heavy. He tries to open them but the light on the other side has him closing them tight. It’s too much right now, it makes his head ache. “Richie?” Eddie turns his head toward where he thinks he is, where he was last time. His voice is stronger than it was last time. His throat feels dry and painful still. He needs water and his humidifier. 

“I’m here.” His voice sounds exhausted. The sound of something scraping makes Eddie wince. He forgets about it when Richie takes his hand again. “Right here, Eds.” Relief floods through him at the touch. 

“Where are we?” 

“Derry Home Hospital. We uh...We were in that old house on Neibolt street when it collapsed. Remember? A beam or something went straight through you, man. I uh - I tried to get you out of the way but I was...I was too slow. I thought... _fuck_. Eddie.” Richie’s hand shakes under his and Eddie strokes it with his thumb, trying to soothe him. His hand is so warm. 

“The house collapsed?” Eddie asks. The house had definitely been standing when they walked into it. 

“Yeah. It’s just junk now. I think one of the supports got destroyed. You know? The big thing that was holding it up.”

It takes Eddie a moment to understand what Richie told him because that’s not what he remembers happening. A cover story, of course they’d need a cover story. Eddie will have to commit it to memory. 

“Is everyone else ok? Did everyone make it out?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “They’re uh. They’re not here right now but they’ve been around. Bill’s back at the hotel and Mike’s at work. Can you believe that shit? They don’t give him enough vacation days. Ben and Bev are probably shacking up back at the hotel. They’re trying to make up for twenty-seven years of not fucking each other, it’s been impossible to be around them all lovey dovey and shit.” There’s a hint of bitterness in his voice when he talks about Beverly and Ben but Eddie doesn’t see why. Good for them, he’s happy for them.

“Lucky bastards,” Eddie sighs, squeezing Richie’s hand. 

“Yeah,” Richie laughs shakily. “Hey, Eds...your uh...Your wife is here too, buddy.” 

Eddie groans. He doesn’t want to deal with that right now, he doesn’t have the energy. 

“Like, here, here, man,” Richie says, his hand trembling again. 

“ _Eddie_ ,” Myra’s whine is piercing. 

Eddie sighs and holds Richie’s hand tight as he lets himself slip back under. 

“It’s going to hurt her,” Eddie says. “I’m such a fucking stupid asshole. I never should have married her. I _knew_! I tried to talk myself out of it! What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

“Repression is a powerful thing,” Stan says.

“Not just that. I know our relationship...It’s not good, dude, it’s never been good. I went to a therapist once and he asked all these leading questions that were obviously encouraging me to leave her and I fucking quit because it’s not what I wanted to hear.” 

“It’s not your fault, Eddie. People get trapped in these unhealthy cycles. It’s not easy to break out of but you’ll have the others to lean on now. Especially Bev, she’ll understand.” 

“I just have so many fucking regrets,” Eddie sighs. “I would do so many things differently if I could. If I knew what I know now.” 

“Do them differently now,” Stan reminds him. “Be brave. You have a second chance, not a time machine.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. He closes his eyes and thinks about that perfect peace he’d felt when he first arrived here, the one he knows is attainable if he can un-fuck his life.

His eyes feel sticky when he wakes, his head still groggy. The fluorescent lights make him want to close his eyes again but the first thing he sees is Richie so he keeps them open, staring in wonder. He’s sleeping in an uncomfortable looking chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest, long legs stretched out in front of him, chin tucked against his chest. His glasses are sliding down his nose. The hoodie he’s wearing looks comfortable, Eddie wishes he was wearing it. He almost doesn’t want to wake him but sitting like that can’t be good for his back or neck.

“Rich.” 

Richie springs to life instantly, looking wild and frantic. His hair is disheveled and he has bags under his eyes, his facial hair scruffier than when they met at the restaurant. His eyes go wide when he sees Eddie blinking at him. 

“You look like shit, dude.” It concerns him but he’s so relieved to see Richie again he can’t help thinking he’s still incredibly handsome. 

Richie laughs, warm and sincere, joyful, like Eddie just told him he loves him. Again. He thinks that happened anyway, things are a little fuzzy right now but they’re coming back. He wants Richie to hold his hand again, to feel his warmth. Eddie’s hands feel cold. 

“You’re one to talk, have you looked in a mirror lately?” He pulls his chair closer and sets his hand on the edge of the hospital bed. Eddie has just noticed how uncomfortable it is. He wants to get up and stretch his legs but everything is so heavy. 

“Not since I got stabbed in the face.” 

“ _Eddie_!” Myra shouts and Eddie’s head swivels, his heartbeat jumping into his throat. He hadn’t even seen her on the other side of the room, a dog-eared romance novel in her hands. Richie withdraws his hand from the side of the bed. 

What follows is a barrage of questions and demands that makes his head spin. Who stabbed him? Why?! What was he doing in that old house? She saw it and it looked like a filthy death trap. Why did he leave like that? What was he thinking? Was he trying to kill her with worry? Who are these people claiming to be his friends? Why hasn’t she met them? Why didn’t he ever tell her about them? He knows he shouldn’t hide things from her. He needs to be discharged as soon as possible so he can transfer to a better hospital in New York. He needs to call his boss and stand up for her after he humiliated her by insisting on talking to a doctor to confirm Eddie was in the hospital. 

“I knew this would happen,” she says. “I told you something would happen but you never listen to me.” 

“Myra,” Eddie sighs. He wants to rub his eyes but he still can’t move his hands more than a few inches. He looks down and sees his wrists are strapped down to the bed. He looks at Richie, feeling panicky. Why are his hands strapped down? 

“I got it,” Richie says, his hands shaking as he undoes the strap. 

“Leave that,” Myra commands sharply but Richie doesn’t stop. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re not a medical professional.” 

“He’s lucid now, he’s not going to pull anything out,” Richie says. Is that why they were strapped down? Had Eddie been trying to pull things out of himself? It turns his stomach. He’s attached to so many fucking things. Myra huffs and stands to hit the call button on the wall. 

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie smiles at him, his heartbeat picking up for a different reason. It’s so good to see him, he feels like his heart might burst. He doesn’t want to think about waking up without Richie here - alone in the room with Myra, his hands strapped down. Trapped again.

“No problemo, Ed-io-spaghettio, whatever you need.” 

“That ones new,” Eddie chuckles, rubbing his eyes with his right hand, mindful of the IV. Whoever cleaned him up after the sewer has his gratitude, even under his nails looks clean. He doesn’t try to move his left arm, he can feel a dull ache in his left shoulder and he knows that’s where It got him. “Gross.” 

“Uh, here,” Richie gets him a tissue from the counter across the room and Eddie cleans all the gunk out of his eyes. The way Richie moves makes him worry. He’s limping, moving like he’s in pain. Myra leaves with another exaggerated huff when no one immediately answers the call button. 

“You ok?” Eddie asks and Richie looks at him like he just asked if he's Miss America. “You’re limping.” 

“Oh, that. I’m fine. Just bruised. I’m lucky nothing broke,” Richie says. The bags under his eyes seem more pronounced. 

“You dropped really hard,” Eddie says. “Right on you ass, man. And you don’t have enough of it to cushion a fall like that.” 

To his delight Richie laughs and it lifts some of the exhaustion off his face. “What the fuck, man? You wake up to roast me for my flat ass?” 

“It’s not that flat,” Eddie says.

“I can’t believe you just woke up and you’re talking about my ass. I didn’t know my ass concerned you that much.” 

“It looked painful. Sorry, I didn’t think about the fall.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Eds. I should be the one apologizing,” Richie says, all traces of humor gone but Eddie doesn’t know what he could possibly have to apologize for. 

Eddie looks around the room. It looks completely different than when they lived in Derry. The room is much nicer than the one he got his cast in. There are chairs, around the perimeter of the room and the garbage can is full of empty plastic bottles of water and styrofoam coffee cups. 

“Water?” Eddie asks and Richie scrambles to get it for him, pulling out a plastic water bottle from under his chair. 

“I already drank some, do you want me to go get you a clean one?” Richie asks but Eddie holds out his hand. His arm feels weak. 

“I don’t fucking care, dude,” he says, his voice gravely. He has trouble unscrewing the cap one handed but he figures it out, resting the bottle against his leg. It feels heavier than it should as he lifts it to his mouth but he gets it there, only spilling a little in his eagerness to chase the dry, painful feeling from his mouth and throat. His mouth feels disgusting.

“How long was I out?” he asks when he’s done, rubbing his chin - the stubble is thicker than he ever lets it grow and it startles him.

“Like, seven days? I don’t know man, time in hospitals is fucking weird.”

Seven days? Eddie was out for a week? That’s going to take some time to wrap his head around. His throat and mouth feel it though. Richie looks like he’s been trapped in a hospital room for a week.

“It was...They thought something was wrong with your brain, Eds,” Richie tells him, his face twisting into a grimace. Eddie watches him take a few breaths, his eyes shut tight, before he pulls his expression back together. “They couldn’t find anything wrong but you were just...They called it a coma but. It was different.” 

“I’m awake now,” Eddie says because there’s no medical explanation for hanging out with your dead friend in between worlds. “Were you here the whole time?” 

“Yeah, man, of course I was. How could I just…I mean I spent some of it at the fucking police station but if I wasn’t there I was here.” 

“Police station?” Eddie can’t think of a reason for Richie to be at the police station. Are they in trouble because of the collapsing house story? He’s sure no one legally owned the house. 

“Yeah man, you don’t remember? I killed a guy.” Richie looks nervously at the door before he continues, fast and quiet and Eddie has to concentrate to follow his words. “While Bowers was attacking Mike he said he had a kid tied up in the house on Neibolt street so we rushed over there to save them but we couldn’t find the kid and then the house collapsed. Got it, Eds? Fuck I can’t tell how with it you really are but it’s not like they’re going to come question the guy who was just in a fucking...It’s a shitty story but Bill came up with it so just go with it ok? It’s good enough for the Derry police, thank Christ they’re fucking idiots.” 

“I got it,” Eddie nods. “You’re not in trouble, are you?” Wouldn’t that be a perfect shit ending, if Eddie survived only for Richie to go to jail? The thought makes his stomach turn. He can’t lose him again.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” Richie laughs and it’s that hollow laugh again, his stare fixed on the door. “It’s up to the good ol’ state of Maine but seeing as the state let him escape and go on a killing spree they don’t seem that enthusiastic about charging me with anything. Shit, I need to send my lawyer wine or cocaine or whatever shit lawyers like. I don’t know how Bill found this guy in Bangor but I’m fucking glad, he actually brought up _suing the state for negligence_ and it seemed like it actually made them back off. Mike passed but you in Eddie? The fucker stabbed you in the face.” 

“I’m fine,” Eddie says and Richie looks at him then, his face showing just how exhausted he is again. “Have you been taking care of yourself? You need to fucking sleep Rich, and eat and -” 

“Fuck you,” he says but there’s no anger in it, just that bone-tired look in his eyes. “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to function as a human being. Bill brought my bag and I’ve been showering here. Food is fucking terrible but it’s a hospital, what do you expect? I’m uh...not supposed to be here technically, but you know. The perks of being famous. Turns out for the price of a selfie you can violate HIPAA all you want. Rules don’t apply to me so God bless America, I guess.” 

“Really?” Eddie laughs but it hurts. The thought of Richie with a line of hospital staff taking pictures and signing autographs while Eddie lies there in the background is amusing, in a morbid way.

“Be careful, Jesus Eddie, you’re going to tear your stitches out.” 

“Seriously Rich, is that how you’ve been using your fame?” 

“Fuck yeah. If telling jokes on TV can bend the rules to let me stay here then I’m going to fucking use it, and if charm doesn’t work then money does. I’ve _tipped_ one of the nurses like $500 not to kick me out.” 

“That’s pretty fucking funny,” Eddie chuckles. 

“Well neither works on your...Your wife. She took one look at me and decided she fucking hates my guts, it’s just like your, uh...” 

“My mom?” Eddie offers. 

“Yeah, that,” Richie laughs nervously. 

“I know,” Eddie sighs. “I know it’s fucked up, I’m fucked up. I’m working on it. Nothing like getting stabbed by an inter-dimensional space clown to put your life in perspective.” 

“Yeah,” Richie swallows, staring at his feet. 

“Hey,” Eddie holds his hand out to Richie when the door opens, a frazzled looking doctor walking in with a satisfied looking Myra. That look is very familiar to Eddie. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kaspbrak,” the doctor greets him. She looks young and nervous and has probably just gotten an earful from Myra. In another life Eddie would have taken one look at her and decided she was too inexperienced, inadequate for his care and asked for someone else. 

“Call me Eddie.” He smiles as warmly as he can with a stitched up knife wound in his face. 

“It’s time for your exam,” Myra says. “You can leave now,” she looks at Richie, a hard set to her face. Eddie hates that look, he almost always gives in when it’s directed at him. 

“No,” Eddie says, mindful to keep his voice firm but gentle, his heart hammering. “I want him to stay. If he wants to stay.” 

“Hey Richie,” the doctor says in a familiar tone and he smiles widely at her, greeting her by name before smiling at Eddie, a familiar glint in his eye. It changes his entire face, the years and exhaustion melting away and Eddie falls a little more in love if that’s possible. Richie should always be smiling. 

Myra is not amused.

All things considered, he’s not terribly injured. He remembers the look on Richie’s face as he grabbed Eddie, pulling him down and Eddie had thought wildly that Richie was going to kiss him back before there was a piercing pain in his shoulder. It had missed his organs at least. Richie leans against the wall, his arms wrapped around himself when the doctor tells Eddie how lucky he is that it didn’t puncture his lung or an artery. Richie looks so pale and tired Eddie is worried he might faint but he stays on his feet.

The doctor doesn’t mince words, Eddie will likely have permanent mobility issues with his left arm. It doesn’t bother him. He can live without lifting his left arm over his head, hell he could even live without the whole arm if it meant he was still alive; plenty of people with amputated limbs lead happier lives than he was living with two fully functioning arms.

“There goes my basketball career,” he jokes.

“Eddie, you don’t play basketball,” Myra says tersely. 

“I’ll be fine,” Eddie says to the room. “I’m right handed anyway.” 

Richie makes a sound from the back of the room, a strange strangled sound from his throat. He covers his mouth when everyone’s eyes turn to him. Even from across the room Eddie can see his hand is shaking. “Sorry,” he says. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just -” he gestures to a chair in the corner. Eddie watches him fold himself into it. 

Now that he’s awake, Eddie feels restless. One of the things he talked to Stan about was how he was finally going to learn to relax but sitting in a hospital bed isn’t what he had in mind. He meant yoga and meditation and unashamed orgasms. He has so much life to catch up on, so much life to live. At least now that he’s stable he can get some of the tubes attached to him removed and he can start moving around the room. 

The doctor recommends he stay for one or two more days, just in case, then he can go home. The thought of being free from the hospital so soon fills him with relief until Myra is talking a mile a minute about how to get him back to their house safely, all the things she’ll need to do to take care of him - she seems thrilled by that part and a cold chill goes through him. 

Eddie isn’t going home with her, not when he gets discharged, not ever. If he does then he might get stuck again. He looks at Richie for help but Richie is too busy staring at the ceiling, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his face chillingly blank. It’s not like Richie can speak for him anyway, even if he knew what Eddie wanted. He needs to do this on his own. He doesn’t want to do it now but he doesn’t see any other way around it. It would be a lie if he went home with her and it would be cowardly if by some miracle he convinced her to go home without him and then broke the news long distance. He could say he’s tired and ask her to come back tomorrow but that’s only delaying the inevitable. 

“I, um,” Eddie clears his throat, his heart pounding. This is the scariest thing he’s faced since Its lair but he survived that, he can survive this too. He looks at Richie. Eddie is brave now, was maybe always brave, but now he knows it. “I need to talk to Myra,” he tells Richie after the doctor has left. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course man. I um. I’ll just…” 

“Don’t go,” Eddie says quickly. “Uh, don’t go too far. Unless you want to, I mean. You’ve probably got stuff to do, you don’t have to...” 

“Ok, sure, yeah, no, I -” They both sound like idiots. “I have some calls to make so I’ll just - Yeah.” Richie hesitates near the door, clutching his phone and staring at Eddie like he wants to say more but decides better of it. 

It’s not easy but he knew it wouldn’t be. Still, he stays calm and reasonable, trying to keep his voice from shaking too badly, trying to hide any signs of weakness Myra might latch onto. Eddie’s not going home with her. He’s unhappy. He wants a divorce. It’s best for the both of them. She has a right to be happy, just like he does. 

“Myra, I’m gay,” he says when she won’t stop objecting. He’s never said that out loud before, except to Stan. It feels fucking amazing. “You know I’m gay.” 

“No, Eddie,” Myra shakes her head, her eyes red from crying. “You’re just confused. It’s, it’s that,” she waves her hand distastefully at the door. Eddie can see Richie pacing back and forth through the cracked blinds on the window and door, shoulders hunched, talking on the phone and it gives him strength. “He has you all confused.” 

Eddie sighs. “I’m not confused. This is the clearest my mind has been in my life.” 

“You must have hit your head,” she says. “You should see a specialist, you have brain trauma Eddie! You’re not fit to be making these decisions.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with my brain.” Eddie tries not to let his voice waver, a wave of horror washing over him. Would Myra try to get him declared mentally unfit to make him stay with her? It’s impossible, he knows that rationally, no judge would grant her that power over him, but the thought that it might occur to her makes his stomach turn. “You know it’s true. I call you _Marty_. That never struck you as strange? You walked in on me…You’re in denial and that’s ok, I was too but the sooner you accept it the sooner you can move on.” 

“You’re not making any sense,” she cries and it tears at his heart like it always does when she cries but there’s no taking this back, this is necessary. “You’re on painkillers, you’re not in your right mind.”

Her refusal to accept it is expected. It’s a shock to her, he knows that and he knows that given some time to think it over she’ll accept it. He hopes she’ll accept it. Whether that’s before or after the divorce papers are in her hand he’s not sure yet. 

“I know what I’m saying,” he says. “We’re going to get a divorce, whether you want it or not. I’m leaving you.” 

“You can’t do this to me, Eddie. You can’t leave me. You need me. What will you do without me?”

His mother had said the same thing the first time he tried to move out and she had been right. He makes a fist into the blanket, trying to keep his hand from shaking. “I’ll be fine,” Eddie says, very much wishing he could sink into the hospital bed to escape this conversation.

“You won’t, Eddie! Look at what happened to you without me! You’re being selfish, you’re always selfish, you never think about me. Why are you doing this to me? Why, Eddie?” 

“I told you already,” Eddie says. His voice sounds weak to his ears. He feels awful. He _is_ awful. He never wanted to hurt her like this. “I’m gay.” 

“Let’s just go home,” she says, completely ignoring him. “You never should have come here.” She sobs, a tissue twisted in her hand.

“I’m divorcing you Myra,” he says again, his voice gentle. His throat feels tight. He hates seeing her cry. “It’s over.”

 _“No_ ,” she says, the switch from guilt to anger happening in an instant. It shouldn’t affect him but it does, like it always does, like it did when his mother did the same thing but he won’t back down, not this time. “I won’t stand for it Eddie. You’re coming home with me, and that’s final.”

“I’m not. _I’m gay_ ,” he says, his voice rising shakily. “There’s nothing you can say to change that. Let it go, Jesus Myra. You can’t _make me_ fucking stay with you.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” she shouts at him. “I’m your wife Eddie! You seem to have forgotten but you need me. You need to listen to me, I know what’s best for you.”

“Stop. Just go,” Eddie says, anger taking over. He wishes he could use his hands to point but he doesn’t want to fuck up the IV. “Just go home. I’ll have a lawyer contact you.”

“No. I’m not leaving you alone, not when you’re like this,” she says, sitting back down stubbornly. “You need to stop being so unreasonable.”

“It’s over,” he says again. She had the audacity to call him _unreasonable?_ He doesn’t want to be mean, he hates being mean to her but if being cruel will get him what he wants then he’s going to use it and feel like shit about it for the rest of his life. “I don’t want to be with you. I don’t love you.”

She looks at him like he slapped her and the guilt immediately sets in. He wants to take it back, tell her he didn’t mean it but he did mean it, he doesn’t love her how he should as her husband. He knows romantic love can fade over time but he’s never loved her romantically. Before coming back to Derry he thought he loved her like a friend, before he remembered what having friends he loved really felt like. No, he loves her the same way he loved his mother - out of guilt and duty, out of a sense of dependency. Love shouldn’t be an obligation. 

“You’re going to regret this!” she yells but she gathers her things to leave and relief washes over him. She storms out of the room and does something that Eddie hadn’t anticipated - she turns on Richie. 

“You!” she shouts, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Me?” Richie says and then the door swings shut and Eddie can only hear muffled yelling.

He wants to get up and intervene but he’s still attached to too many things and his body still feels like it weighs a ton. Instead he’s forced to watch what little he can from the barely open blinds on the window. He can see Myra, her face turning red with fury. He can’t make out words but he can hear Richie yelling back. They’re not at it long before there are more people outside his room, nurses and orderlies trying to get them to calm down. Eddie watches a nurse lead a hysterical Myra away. He feels guilty but not as bad as he had before. Before, the guilt had been enough to make him stay. 

“Uh, hey,” Richie peeks his head in. “Am I allowed in?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie tries to sit up a little straighter but moving is uncomfortable so he stays where he is.

Richie takes his seat on Eddie’s other side, away from the door. He looks pale. “That’s good, I’m down another hundred dollars, I’d hate to waste it.” He attempts a smile but it’s not right and the wrongness of it stabs at Eddie’s heart again. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s ok. It’s a small town, gotta spread the wealth.” 

“Not about that,” Eddie clarifies but he has a feeling Richie knew that. “I didn’t think she’d take it out on you.” 

“She already had it out for me, dude. Hearing your husband constantly calling someone else’s name on his deathbed is pretty demoralizing. I assume, I mean, I don’t have a husband.” 

“This isn’t my deathbed,” Eddie says. “I’m fine, Rich.” Richie doesn’t say anything but Eddie watches the hypnotic way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “It never occurred to me that she would be here.” 

“You weren’t exactly in a position to have anything _occur_ to you, Eds.” 

“I was,” Eddie insists. “A lot of things occurred to me. Stan helped me work through so much fucking bullshit. It was a very...illuminating experience. Like a fucking month long spiritual journey to Nepal to find myself but I did it for free in a few hours.” 

“A week,” Richie reminds him. “And I’d hardly call it free but I don’t know how good your insurance is.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Richie doesn’t say anything, exhaustion clouding his expression. They let the silence between them stretch out. Eddie has so much to say but he’s not actually sure if Richie wants to hear any of it. The thought makes his chest feel tight but before he has an opportunity to bring it up a nurse comes in to free him from the oxygen tube in his nose. It’s one less thing but he’s attached to so many fucking things, it feels claustrophobic if he lets himself dwell on it. It’s temporary, he tells himself. All discomfort is temporary. All happiness is temporary too but he doesn’t want to think about that, his eyes lingering on Richie. He owes it to himself to try at least.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Richie yet because as soon as the nurse is gone there’s another nervous looking doctor in the room clutching a clipboard. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Kaspbrak,” (“Call me Eddie,” he interrupts.) “Eddie. Your wife is down the hall being sedated. She said you were behaving irregularly and requested a psychological evaluation.” 

“For Christ’s sake,” Richie growls but Eddie holds up his hand to shush him. 

Eddie answers the questions to the satisfaction of the doctor who seems very apologetic and confused as she lets Richie back into the room. 

“How are you so fucking relaxed?” Richie demands, agitation radiating off of him as he settles back into his chair. “You fucking died man. You have a chunk of,” he waves his hand at his shoulder. “You’ve got a chunk missing from you and I’m a fucking moron. It fucking could have gone through your throat or your heart, I saw It...I - Fuck. I thought it was avoidable but _fuck_.” Eddie doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about but he lets him go on. ”Jesus Eddie, you were fucking out of it for a week and then you pop back into consciousness like a fucking Jack-in-the-box to tell your wife you want a divorce, not that I blame you -”

“I didn’t _Jack-in-the-box_ , I can’t even sit up all the way.” 

“I fucking know that. Just - The imagery is funnier than...I don’t understand how you’re so fucking chill.”

“Death does that to you.”

“Don’t,” Richie says, his voice suddenly tight. “Don’t joke about it. Fuck Eddie.” He runs a hand through his messy hair and Eddie holds his hand out to him. Richie slides his chair closer to the bed. He seems reluctant at first but he takes Eddie’s hand just like he had when Eddie was floating in and out of this plane of existence. 

“Maybe it’s the drugs,” he says and maybe it’s true, maybe they’re making him more relaxed but his mind is still his own. 

“Shit, think they’ll give me some?”

“You’ve paid enough for them but I’d prefer you sober for what I want to say.” 

Richie takes a shaky breath, tightening his grip on Eddie’s hand. “What about you, Eds? You’re not exactly _sober_ yourself.” 

“I am,” he insists, trying to shove down his annoyance. “I have shit to tell you, I’ve been _waiting_ to tell you. How much longer do you want me to wait, Rich? What’s the wait period after morphine where people believe what I fucking tell them?” 

“I know you’re lucid now, Eds,” Richie says, staring at their hands. “You were fucking in and out of it for days, mumbling and saying weird shit. I can tell the fucking difference. But still...I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret later when you’re...less uninhibited.” 

“I know what I’m saying and I won’t fucking regret it. I’ve been thinking about this for a week.” Eddie takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “But if you don’t want to listen you don’t have to. I just wanted to explain.” 

“You don’t have to explain your divorce to me, man. You don’t have to justify yourself to me at all. I’m just happy you’re...” 

“I want to,” Eddie says, his voice steadier than he feels, his thumb stroking Richie’s hand gently. 

“Ok then, lay it on me, I’m ready.” Richie smiles at him but it’s not real, it’s thin and fragile and it hurts. 

“I don’t want to burden you,” he says, suddenly having second thoughts. Maybe it’s better if he holds off on this conversation but the thought of wasting any more of his time fills him with self-loathing. He doesn’t even know if Richie feels the same but he’d said it back, hadn’t he? ‘ _I love you,’_ he said it back but there are many different types of love. 

“No, no, you can’t back out now, burden me.” 

“Ok, I’m gay.”

“Oh. Ok.” Richie blinks at him, no trace of surprise on his face. Eddie takes it as encouragement when he doesn’t take his hand away. 

“Myra knows, she just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. I mean, we’ve always had...intimacy issues. No, shut up Richie, I see a joke about my mom on your face and I don’t want to hear it...I was convinced I just had...problems. Down there. My doctor prescribed me Viagra. No, no jokes. If you call me a motherfucker I swear I’ll strangle you from my hospital bed.” 

“This is so hard,” Richie says. His tone is light but Eddie can feel the slight tremble in his hand. “Hey -” 

“Beep-beep, Richie.” He squeezes Richie’s hand and he squeezes back. “A few years ago I...I cheated on her. Once.” Richie’s eyebrows shoot up but he doesn’t say anything. Eddie’s stomach turns. “With this guy who went to my gym.” Eddie told this to Stan in the other place and it had been easy because Stan didn’t judge him but he doesn’t know how Richie will react. 

“Was he hot?” 

“Painfully. One night we were there late, the only people there. We didn’t talk much but there was always, you know...something there in the way we looked at each other. I never planned on doing anything about it. I wouldn’t...I’m not that kind of person. Or I thought I wasn’t but I fucking _am_ because the next thing I knew he was blowing me in the shower room.” The memory makes him burn with disgust. 

“Damn, that escalated quickly,” Richie says, that light tone in his voice again but he’s looking at Eddie sharply, like he’s re-evaluating Eddie. He tries not to hide from it. 

“And do you know what I did?”

“Returned the favor?”

“No, I left. I couldn’t even look at him after. I got dressed and went to the front desk and cancelled my membership. Then...Then I went to a strip club.” 

“Shit Eddie, I always knew you had a fucking wild side.” Richie is teasing, Eddie knows that but he can tell his heart isn’t in it. 

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he’s too loose-lipped from the morphine. Maybe he’s saying too much. Too many details Richie doesn’t want to hear. He hopes he’s not fucking this up but Richie needs to know, he needs to know what Eddie did, he can’t hide this from Richie, not if...He has to confess, even if Richie can’t absolve him. Eddie can’t absolve himself. He knows what he did was wrong, he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness but he needs this, he needs to lay himself out like this. He’s never felt so vulnerable but Richie is still holding his hand.

“Shut up. I went to the strip club hoping to feel something, anything for any of the girls in there and I didn’t. I broke down crying in the middle of a lapdance.” The memory makes him feel nauseous, the pounding music, the lights, the guilt and disgust with himself. The terror because he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Jesus.” 

“And she actually turned to me and said ‘it’s ok sweety, this place isn’t for you and that’s fine. You want the bouncer’s number, he’ll make you feel better.’ And then I did what I always do. I ran.” 

“I hope you paid first. And tipped generously.” 

“I did.” 

“Shit Eddie, I’m sorry but this is weirdly hilarious, mind if I steal it for my standup?” Richie half-grins up at him but it looks more like a grimace.

“It’s not fucking funny so it should fit into your routine perfectly.” 

Richie howls with genuine laughter, his grip on Eddie’s hand almost painful. Eddie chuckles with him. “You really have been hanging out with Stan, that was a fucking perfect Stan zinger.”

“I don’t need someone to write my jokes for me,” Eddie says and immediately regrets it when Richie’s face twists into the grimace again, his laughter slowly dying.

“Ouch, Eds. Are you going to roast me or tell me more about your gay awakening?” 

Eddie feels like shit so he might as well continue. It’ll be a miracle if Richie wants anything to do with him after today. “I spent the next day crying in the waiting room of a clinic, thinking I had fucking herpes or something. I pretended I didn’t have insurance so they wouldn’t see my name on the card. I paid with cash.” 

“That’s less funny, sorry man.” The look of sympathy on Richie’s face hurts. Eddie doesn’t deserve sympathy. 

“I suppressed it for so fucking long I didn’t know what to do. My mom was so...She was a lot of things but she was also homophobic and I...I remember being so fucking scared every time I looked at a guy growing up so I just fucking stuffed it down. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t. It doesn’t make any fucking sense. I was so repressed, I couldn’t acknowledge it and suddenly the floodgates were open and I was driving to Jersey and getting drunk across the street from a fucking _adult emporium_ and buying...dildos and butt plugs and anal beads.” Eddie remembers the embarrassment he’d felt setting the things down on the counter, getting out the cash he’d been holding onto for the occasion. The employee hadn’t given him a weird look or anything but he’d still blurted something about it being for his wife, which had only served to make him feel worse.

“Damn,” Richie’s eyebrows shoot up again. “You never do anything by halves, Eds.” 

“I was accepting every business trip I could so I wouldn’t have to be home, I didn’t want to share a bed with...And I could use them in the hotel. I...I tried throwing them away so many fucking times. I felt so ashamed but then I’d just fucking dig them out of the garbage and sanitize them.”

“This is fucking heartbreaking.” Richie squeezes his hand. Eddie stares at their hands - Richie’s hands are so big. Bigger and rougher than Myra’s hands. Stronger. He loves them. It gives him the strength to go on.

“Myra caught me jerking off to gay porn once and after that I stopped using incognito mode on my computer. I know she looks at my history and I wanted it, I wanted her to see what I was looking at so I could be the coward and she could leave me but she hasn’t. I can’t believe she’s still denying it. I’ve been calling her _Marty_ for years because it was easier. I’m...I’m like super gay. I’m pretty sure all her friends and family know. It’s fucked up.” 

“Do you feel unburdened now?” Richie asks when Eddie trails off, looking up at Eddie, his expression inscrutable. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. He feels overwhelmed and exhausted, tears stinging his eyes. He leans his head back on the pillow and tries to relax but he feels shaky. It’s too late to take it back. Maybe he can say it was a joke. Maybe Richie will pretend to believe him. Richie can probably feel his hand trembling. “Fuck, this is embarrassing. I’m gonna cry. Fuck.” 

“Go ahead,” Richie says softly, his hand warm and reassuring.

“I’m a fucking coward.” He can’t bring himself to look at Richie now. “I was doing all this shit. Exploring my...my sexuality for the first time but a part of me was like... _this doesn’t make me gay._ Even though I fucking knew I was.” Stan had said something about cognitive dissonance but Eddie didn’t know what that meant. “And then I started to accept it but I was too fucking cowardly to do anything about it. The thought of anyone thinking I was gay fucking terrified me. I was still so...so fucking defensive and paranoid about it. When you questioned my marriage I...Fuck. I was fucking miserable but being with Myra was safe and comfortable and I was too chicken-shit to do what I needed to be happy.” 

“I get it Eds, the closet is a giant mindfuck.” Richie rubs his thumb over Eddie’s hand and it gives him hope.

“I meant it,” Eddie says, his eyes screwed shut. It makes him feel cowardly again but baby steps, Stan said baby steps were ok. “I love you Rich. Even when we were kids, before I really knew what it felt like, I was so in love with you. I remembered you when I was packing for Derry and I...Fuck. You walked into that restaurant and I saw you and everything came rushing back, I felt like I was - Richie?” 

He opens his eyes when Richie’s head dips onto the hospital bed. He’s quiet at first, quiet and still except Eddie can see him breathing heavily and Eddie is starting to worry he passed out until a chilling sound comes from Richie, deep in his throat, and his shoulders start to shake. Panic grips him. He fucked up. He grips Richie’s hand.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Rich. That’s way too much to put on you, I shouldn’t have -” 

“Shut up,” Richie hisses, his head snapping back up. There’s thick splotches of tears all over his glasses. “Jesus fucking Christ Eddie, I’m. Fuck. Eddie.” He looks absolutely wrecked. “Eddie. If you come off that IV and tell me you were just fucked up I’m going to finish the clown’s job.” 

“I won’t,” he promises. “Come here.” Eddie opens his arm, inviting Richie in for a hug. Richie only hesitates a moment, standing up to carefully hug him. Richie’s arms are big and strong and warm, they feel so good and right, even this gentle embrace when what Eddie wants is to be crushed against him. Eddie turns his head to bury his face in Richie’s shoulder. “You need to wash your fucking hoodie, it smells terrible,” Eddie sighs even as he tries to pull him closer. 

“Fuck you, laundry hasn’t been high on my priority list. Stitches,” Richie reminds him, his breathing still unsteady. “Although I’m not convinced this isn’t some kind of fucking deadlights hallucination.” 

“That’s fucking rude,” Eddie teases. “I saved your ass and got stabbed and that’s how you repay me, thinking I’m a hallucination? That’s...That one philosophy where you think you’re the only real person.” 

“Solipsism?” Richie answers automatically. It was so easy as a kid to forget that Richie was actually really smart. “Well excuse me for being fucking cautious. Fuck man, I’ve been in love with you since we were kids and I fucking _knew_ it. I was _actively_ in fucking love with you and it didn’t make it any fucking easier. I was convinced you would all hate me if you knew...I’m not going to regale you with my gay exploits.”

A knot Eddie had been carrying in his stomach finally releases. He tries to pull Richie closer again. This position can’t be good for his back but he wants to be closer. Richie felt the same about him. He takes a shaky breath, not caring that Richie’s hoodie smells like stale sweat. 

“No? I spilled mine. Are you...Are you seeing someone?” Eddie hadn’t even considered that a possibility. It would hurt, of course it would, but he could live knowing Richie was happy and loved, taken care of. Even if he’s not there’s no guarantee he wants a romantic relationship with Eddie after everything he just told him. If he has to he can carry his love for Richie in his heart and let him go. The thought of loving Richie from afar, from YouTube videos and talk show interviews and texts, if he wants to keep in touch with Eddie, hurts more than getting stabbed.

“Fuck no. Just because I know I’m gay doesn’t mean I haven’t been living in the fucking closet. Or I was. I came out a few days ago, officially. It went viral. If you’ve got Twitter you can read it. I had to make Bev change my password so I couldn’t do more weird emotional tweeting before my manager and PR team hunt me down and kill me.” 

It takes a moment to absorb. Eddie keeps forgetting that Richie is famous, that he has people paying attention to him like that. He can’t believe Richie has PR people. He’s still just Richie Tozier to Eddie, his Richie Tozier. 

“I’m proud of you,” Eddie says. “Stan is proud of you too, he told me to tell you that.” 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes. “I thought I was supposed to be telling you about sad handjobs and blowjobs that I cried about after. It’s fucking hard to get laid when you’re on TV. No one wants to have sex with the guy with the body like mine who doesn’t want to talk and won’t take off his hat and sunglasses.” Eddie wants to interrupt and tell him he’s nuts, there’s nothing wrong with his body but he lets him go on. “I’ve never even slept with anyone like, shared a bed, slept. I’ve never had a fucking boyfriend, partner, whatever and I’m in my forties, I’m fucking pathetic. I’ve never been in a relationship. I’m...I built my entire career on being a straight horny dirtbag.”

“You’re still a horny dirtbag, always have been,” Eddie assures him, resting his chin on Richie’s shoulder as Richie leans down further into the hug. 

“Fuck you,” Richie says but there’s no bite. “Do they do extreme home makeovers but for lives? I need so much fucking work and I haven’t even really thought about it I’ve been too...Fuck, I’m sorry I threatened to kill you. You don’t owe me shit, Eds, you could kick me in the balls and tell me to get lost and I’d be fucking happy just knowing you’re alive.”

“Rich. I’ve been hanging out with Stan for a week sorting out the car wreck that is my life. I wasn’t...I needed to tell you how I feel but I don’t expect anything from you, I…” He sighs. He’s tired. “I wish you could talk to him, he’s great at advice. I wish I had a notebook or something I could write all the stuff he’s told me in.” 

“Fuck,” Richie takes a shaky breath. “I wish I could talk to him too.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, there isn’t really anything to say, not yet. He just holds Richie and loves him. Their conversation feels like a blur. Richie feels the same though. He said it, he said he’d been in love with Eddie since they were younger. It feels surreal but Richie is here holding him, Eddie can feel his warmth through the flimsy material of his hospital gown. 

They both flinch when there’s a knock on the door, Richie pulling away quickly and wiping his eyes. 

“I’m gonna get in trouble for taking advantage of an invalid. I should just Venmo the nurses the rest of my checking account.”

“Fuck you, I’m not an _invalid_. And that’s an outdated-”

“Knock, knock,” says a soft voice and Eddie’s heart feels like it could burst as Beverly eases open the door. “We can come back if you want.” 

“No,” Eddie says quickly, wiping at his eyes as well. “Fuck, I’m happy to see you guys, get in here.” 

And then they’re all there, crowding around Eddie’s hospital bed for a careful hug. When Eddie closes his eyes he can see Stan’s face behind his eyelids, smiling. 

“This many people definitely aren’t allowed in a hospital room at the same time,” Bill observes. “Derry is still weird even without the fucking clown. It’s like the wild west up here. A place the rules don’t apply.”

“Is that going to be your next book?” Mike asks. 

Beverly brought him flowers in a nice vase. They’re bright and beautiful and he doesn’t once worry about pollen or allergies or if they’re organic. They make the room much cheerier. Ben brought him a stuffed bear from the gift shop. It’s pale pink and has a plush cast on its arm that says “get well soon” and it’s criminally soft. 

“I uh, I thought it was cute,” Ben says sheepishly. “They only had it in one color but I thought maybe you’d like it. I know you don’t have a broken arm but it just reminded me of...You know.”

“I love it,” Eddie says with complete sincerity. “It’s the fucking softest thing I’ve ever touched. I might cry again.”

“It’s the drugs,” Richie says, back in his chair and cleaning his glasses on his hoodie. “They’re making him a fucking angel. That or...He says he’s been…” He gets choked up again and Eddie is glad when Beverly goes to Richie and sits next to him, wrapping her arm around him.

“I’ve been talking with Stan,” Eddie explains. 

“Wow,” Bill breathes out, his hand going up to cover his mouth. The Losers exchange looks but none of them look at Eddie like he’s crazy. 

“He saved me. Stopped my spirit, soul, whatever from moving on. He said it wasn’t my time yet.” Eddie’s heart wrenches at the sound Richie makes. “And we had a lot of time to talk about...how I can un-fuck my life now that he gave me a second chance.” 

“I need to sit down,” Mike says, collapsing into the chair Myra had been sitting in. 

“Is he ok?” Ben asks, his handsome face creased with worry. 

“He says he’s fine,” Eddie says. No matter how many times they’ve talked about it Eddie doesn’t understand how he could be so accepting of his own death. Eddie still hasn’t accepted it. 

“I’m glad he was there for you, Eddie,” Beverly says softly, rocking Richie gently side to side, his head on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, me too,” Eddie sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted. He’s slept so much, he can’t believe he needs more fucking sleep.

“Where’s…” Bill starts and then exchanges a look with everyone else. 

“Getting her flying monkeys in order,” Richie sniffles.

“Hey,” Eddie says gently. “She’s going through some shit right now.” 

“She’s somewhere down the hall getting sedated after she had a shrink come evaluate Eddie. She thinks he’s fucking nuts because he said he wants a divorce.” 

“That was fast,” Beverly says. “Sorry, Eds.” 

“It’s ok, it’s been a long time coming. I’m tired of living a lie.” 

“Good for you Eddie,” Ben says, gently patting Eddie’s arm.

“Is it like super obvious that I’m gay?” He looks around at all of them. None of them look surprised or disgusted. 

“Yeah, honey, it is,” Beverly says, rubbing Richie’s back.

“I wasn’t completely sure,” Bill offers. “But then you kissed Richie and -”

“He was in the deadlights,” Eddie says. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, it works, there’s a precedent.” He gestures between Ben and Beverly. Richie hadn’t looked anything like a sleeping princess though and Eddie had never felt like Prince Charming but in the moment it hadn’t mattered, he still knew it would work because...

“True love’s kiss,” Ben says quietly and Eddie feels his face heat up. He avoids looking at Richie, his eyes landing on Mike on the other side of the room. 

“I did think it was a possibility but it took me a while,” Mike says, leaning forward in his chair. “I had longer to think about it - Well, to be fair, I wasn’t positive. Sexuality is a complex - Sorry, I’ll save the dissertation,” he clears his throat. “Everyone’s sexuality and gender expression is unique and I didn’t want to put you in a box because of stereotypes. When I saw your Facebook and you were married to a woman I thought maybe you were bisexual, which there’s also nothing wrong with. Whatever you identify as, any of you, I still love you...Thank you, Eddie. For sharing this with us.” 

Eddie has to blink back tears, his chest full. 

“I didn’t know,” Ben says when everyone looks at him. “But it’s alright, Eddie. It doesn’t change anything between us.” 

“What about me?” Richie sniffles. “Did anyone spot baby gay Richie?”

“Something about the constant dick jokes did make me suspicious eventually,” Bill grins. 

“Yeah, not my finest moment. I don’t know why I thought that would make me seem straight.” 

“It was painfully obvious you were in love with Eddie,” Beverly says sympathetically, rubbing Richie’s back.

“Hey,” Richie says, gesturing to Eddie.

Beverly looks at Eddie, eyes wide and mouth open in a comical ‘o’ that almost makes Eddie laugh. 

“We literally just talked about it, don’t be a dick,” Eddie says and Beverly relaxes, a smile on her face. She shoves Richie’s shoulder.

“Richie, we took a swing dancing class and you believed I thought you were straight?” Beverly messes up his hair even more and the rest of them laugh. 

“Plenty of straight guys do swing dancing,” Ben says. “I would swing dance with you.” 

“Thank you, Ben,” Beverly grins and it takes Eddie by surprise, how happy she looks when she looks at Ben. “I’ll hold you to that. I mean, most young teenage boys wouldn’t go to a dance class with their totally platonic girl-friend.” 

“Hey, I could have nailed you,” Richie insists.

“Oh sweety…”

“You all could have at least acted surprised when I came out,” Richie says. “You were too chill about it, it made me feel like a fucking moron for not coming out sooner. To you guys at least.” 

“It was brave, Richie,” Mike says, his voice full of warmth. “We appreciate that you trusted us enough to share with us.” The others murmur their agreement and Eddie’s throat feels tight again. 

“You guys are making me sad. Ben, let me touch your abs,” Richie reaches out a hand in Ben’s direction, looking at him expectantly. 

“Hey!” Eddie objects. “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I should get to touch Ben’s abs.” 

“Guys,” Ben turns pink.

“They probably have some kind of healing properties; Ben, let Eddie touch your abs.” Richie gestures at Eddie, shooing Ben in that direction.

“Ok,” Bill interrupts as everyone starts to talk at once and everyone falls silent before things can get too out of hand. “Everyone touches Ben’s abs, together.” 

It does make Eddie feel a little better. “So, what did I miss?” he asks, settling back against the pillow and he’s surprised when everyone looks at Beverly, her smile completely gone. Her expression looks haunted, Eddie can’t think of any other word for it.

“I um…” Bill clears his throat. “I think I found a good ending for the movie I was working on.” 

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Richie says, his hand over Beverly’s hand on his shoulder. 

“My next build got approved?” Ben says, his eyes on Beverly. “A new skyscraper in New York City.” 

“I uh...I’m planning on quitting my job and traveling for a while,” Mike says.

“That’s great, Mike,” Eddie says. “I’m happy for you.” He can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for Mike, being stuck in Derry all his life. He deserves to get out, to see the world, to be free from all his burdens.

“My husband got arrested for assaulting my best friend,” Beverly says, her voice ringing clear in the room. Eddie stares at her, the set to her mouth as she tries to hold herself together. “She...She volunteers teaching a women’s self defense class so she...She fucked him up but. _Fuck_!” Eddie watches helplessly as she starts to cry, her face twisted with fury. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry Bev,” Eddie says weakly. 

“I’m going to make sure he rots in jail,” Beverly says and there’s a quick enthusiastic response from the rest of the Losers. 

“He won’t get away with it,” Ben says and Eddie has never heard him sound so angry. 

“You need me to make him disappear and I will, Bev,” Richie says. “I’ve already killed once.” Eddie doesn’t think he’s joking and he completely agrees. He would kill for Beverly. He would kill for any of them which should shake him but it doesn’t because he knows they would do the same for him. 

“That’s sweet of you, Trashmouth,” Beverly squeezes his hand. “But you’re bad at murder. You got caught. Now, can we talk about something else? Anything.” 

It shouldn’t be as easy as that, to change the subject to something lighter but they do it, the same way they did as kids after something got too serious - following it up with a laugh until it was less scary. 

* * *

“Will you always be here?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not sure,” Stan shrugs. “I’m still new to the whole being dead thing.” He chooses his next words carefully. “I feel like our connection will close soon but I think I’ll still be looking out for all of you. I haven’t tried communicating with anyone else yet but I feel like it’s possible, just more difficult. Unless anyone else gets that close to death,” he adds wryly. 

“Because of the blood oath?”

Stan nods. “This is my way of making up for it.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Stan. You already saved my life. You can move on now. Or...are you...trapped?” That thought is horrifying, Stan trapped alone for who knows how long. Eddie had enjoyed his brief alone time in this strange place but that doesn’t mean Stan wants to be alone here.

“I’m not trapped,” Stan assures him and it makes Eddie feel better. 

“Good. Are you alright though? On your own here?” It’s not the first time he’s asked but he can’t help it, he has to check. 

“I’m fine,” Stan says, giving Eddie an amused look. “Really, Eddie. You can stop asking.” 

“I have to check, man,” he says even though he doesn’t know what he could do if Stan said he wasn’t ok. “Hey, this is probably a stupid question but I was out for seven days. Does that mean...That number feels important. Or am I reading into it?”

“It’s significant,” Stan confirms in that infinitely wise way of his. “I saved you, that first day while they took turns giving you CPR. Every day after that one of the other Losers did the same, even if they didn't realize it. Our bond is strong, all our blood flows in each other. They helped you heal.”

“Shit,” Eddie says, the weight of their love pressing on him from every direction like a hug. 

“Don’t forget about your part, Eddie. You had a hand in saving yourself too. It wouldn’t have been possible without you. You’re strong, stronger than you realize. Don’t forget about that.”

Eddie promises and he means it. 

* * *

Hospital food has a reputation of being terrible and it probably is but Eddie digs in, feeling ravenous. The mashed potatoes, overcooked chicken, and pureed peas tastes like the kind of fine dining he’s only experienced at important work meetings. And water? Finer than any wine. His legs feel pleasantly sore from walking for the first time in a week. All things considered he’s feeling alright. His cheek is mostly healed from where Henry Bowers stabbed him but he eats carefully so he doesn’t fuck it up, trying not to stare at Richie. 

Richie took a shower while Eddie slept and he abandoned his dirty grey hoodie in favor of a dark grey t-shirt and a white and blue button up with an incomprehensible pattern on it. Eddie loves it. He smells like the body wash Eddie brought to Derry. Richie apologized for stealing it from Eddie’s bag when he brought it up but Eddie finds it thrilling that Richie wanted a piece of Eddie that badly.

Myra stops by one more time to plead with Eddie for the night, Richie extremely focused on stirring the contents of his pudding cup until she leaves for her hotel room. He should probably talk to someone from the hospital about revoking her access to him but given how lax they are with Richie and his other visitors it might not do anything. He won’t be here long anyway.

“Here, I’m not hungry,” Richie mumbles, setting the pudding down on the tray in front of Eddie. 

“You ok?” Eddie asks. 

“No. Fuck Eddie, you’re _married_. As soon as you said it I freaked out. You have a wife, man. It’s freaky ok, thinking of you,” he waves his hands around like that will clear it up. “I saw you in that stupid restaurant and,” he makes an exasperated noise but Eddie thinks he knows what he means. “And then immediately found out you were married and straight. Well I thought straight but just. You being _a husband_. I know you weren’t happy just. I don’t know, it’s fucking me up.” 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Eddie says around a mouthful of chocolate pudding. It’s delicious, was it always this delicious? 

Richie huffs and shifts uncomfortably in his chair, mumbling a quiet “Fuck you.” 

“It is weird,” Eddie says. “I get it. When you insisted you were married I fucking...I get it.” Richie sighs and rubs his face. He looks so exhausted Eddie doesn’t know how he has his eyes open still. “You don’t have to stay tonight, Rich. You can go sleep in a real bed. I’ll be fine, man. You look...” 

Richie gives him a hard look. “I can’t, Eds. You fucking...I need to wake up and see that you’re breathing, ok? I saw you, man, in the fucking...In the deadlights,” he whispers, eyes shifting to the door. “You fucking...It got you right through the,” he gestures to his own torso, “I watched you die, Eddie. You _died_ and then I fucked up and It still got you and you still fucking died and I - It’s my fault you’re here, I was too fucking slow. Fuck.” He covers his mouth with his hand.

“Are you going to -” Eddie stares at him, eyes wide but Richie shakes his head slowly and takes a shaky breath.

“I’m fine,” Richie insists, melting back into his chair, his arms crossed. He closes his eyes and Eddie watches the rise and fall of his chest as he takes meaningful breaths. He looks like a mess and Eddie’s heart aches because he wants to fix it but he can’t. 

“It’s ok, Rich,” Eddie says gently, wishing he was close enough to touch. “I’m alive and I’m not going anywhere. You fucking saved me, dude.” 

“I know you’re ok now, just,” Richie says, his arms tightening around himself. Eddie wishes he could hold him. “I just feel...Just let me be a fucking creep and make sure you’re alive when I wake up from one of my nightmares, ok?” 

“Alright,” Eddie frowns. He doesn’t want Richie having nightmares but that’s out of his control.

“You’re way too fucking chill. Are you gonna freak out as soon as you’re off the painkillers?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs his good shoulder. “I’ve got a lot of shit to do and a lot of decisions to make but it’s good, it’s...I’m finally taking control of my life. I’ve never done that before. It’s like I’ve been swimming in circles all my life and now I finally know where I want to go so I can just fucking go for it.” 

“I’m happy for you Eddie, really. Fuck, I have to ask though, what are your plans? Short-term, I mean,” he adds hastily. “Are you going back to New York? Do you need...a ride to the airport or the train station or a lift there or whatever?”

Eddie’s stomach suddenly drops at the idea of going back to New York. “I thought I’d stay here for a little while. In Derry. Just until I know my stitches aren’t going to rip open and I can see the same doctors, so you know,” his eyes dart to the door but there’s no one there, they’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop on patient’s rooms. “I don’t have to answer questions. After that...I’ll figure it out.” _Don’t stress about it_ he tells himself sternly. One thing at a time. _You’re not done here_ , he tells himself but he doesn’t know why he thought that. 

“Ok. Do you uh. Do you want me to take care of that for you so you don’t have to worry about it? Derry Townhouse didn’t charge you for your room after it became a crime scene, that would have been a real dick move after you got stabbed. But uh, I took your bags, they’re in my room. Your wife was fucking pissed at me but I said I’d give them back later so guess it’s lucky I didn’t otherwise she might be holding them hostage or some shit. What the fuck did you pack anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “I was out of my fucking mind with panic. I think I grabbed the usual stuff I’d bring on a business trip plus…” He tries to think about his mad dash around his and Myra’s bedroom, Myra whining and crying the whole time trying to get him to stop, making him feel like a monster. He knew he couldn’t explain, there was no way he could ever explain to her, she wouldn’t understand or believe. He hadn’t even told her what town he was going to. “I think I shoved most of my clothes in there. There was a part of me that knew I wasn’t coming back.” He’d known it when he told her how long he’d be gone - sometime between a week and ten days but really he’d meant never, he was never coming back. He’d breathed easier on the cab ride to the airport than he had in years. Until he’d remembered what he was running towards. 

“Fuck,” Richie says, his eyes shut tight again.

“Not like that, obviously. I’m alive. I wasn’t planning on dying, Rich. But part of me saw it as a chance to get out. I...This is pathetic but I tried to leave my mom three fucking times but I kept going back. I was an adult and I just kept going back to my mom because I felt so fucking guilty and I...I don’t know, she never taught me how to do anything for myself so I didn’t really know how to live without her. So I went back even though I knew how bad she was for me and then she died and I fucking found a replacement. How fucking crazy is that?” To his surprise Richie doesn’t answer, just looks at Eddie with sadness written all over his face. Richie isn’t usually this easy to read, sleep deprivation must have his defenses low. Eddie doesn’t want to take advantage of him. “It was like all the guilt came back and I thought, yeah this is familiar, I know how this works, so I went along with it and I...Fuck.” 

“It’s ok, Eds,” Richie says, his voice gentle. “You left.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie takes some deep breaths to steady himself. It feels good. It feels good to breathe. “I didn’t think about it but shoving everything in those suitcases felt like leaving my mom again. Except this time I’m not going back.” 

“Good for you, Eds. So uh, where do you want those suitcases?”

He wipes at his eyes. “I don’t have my phone or wallet on me so booking something would be helpful, dude. I’d appreciate it.” Asking for help has always been humiliating, has always been used as proof of his weakness but Richie isn’t like that, he tells himself. 

“No problem, Eddie Spaghetti, anything I can do to help. Hey, your stuff is around here somewhere,” he says, getting up to open a drawer. Sure enough there’s a bag with his phone, wallet, and watch. Eddie is glad he’d decided against renting a car in Bangor even though the Uber was expensive. At least he doesn’t have to worry about paying late fees or returning it. He doesn’t even know when he’ll be able to drive again. Shit. “They had to throw away your clothes. I think,” Richie exams the contents. “Yeah your phone is dead but I can get your charger if you want.” 

“I don’t need it right now. Thanks, though. For everything.” 

“Yeah, yeah, no problemo.” Richie puts the bag back and wipes his hands on his jeans like they’re sweating. “Do you want like...help? Do you want company? You’re gonna need someone to change your bandages and shit. Not literally shit, I’m sure you’ve got that covered, but -”

“Of course, Rich. I want to stay together. If you do too.” He tries to sound casual, like it doesn’t matter but he’s pretty sure he fails spectacularly. It’s the most important thing in the world to him right now - not letting Richie slip away. 

“I want to,” Richie says quickly. “If you want me around still. You just tell me when you get sick of me and I’ll fuck off.” 

“That’s not going to happen, Rich,” Eddie says, his fingers itching to touch him but he’s too far away. 

“Sure,” Richie says, his eyes looking wild in a way that’s throwing Eddie for a loop. “Just remember you’ve got a long list of friends who will help you out when you’ve had enough. Plus your fancy New York friends.” 

“I don’t have friends in New York,” Eddie says, completely bewildered. “I have coworkers. I want it to be you, Rich. I want...I just want you.”

“Whatever you want, Eds,” Richie smiles at him but it’s the broken smile again. “I just...I need to stretch my legs real quick. I’m gonna go to the cafeteria, do you want anything?” 

“Chocolate,” Eddie says, perplexed by Richie’s sudden shift in mood. “Maybe a Snickers?”

“You got it, bud,” Richie says, hesitating by the door. “You sure you don’t want your charger?”

Eddie shakes his head no. He’s exhausted again, he doesn’t want to look at the backlog of messages from work and Myra he knows he must have. At least Myra already called his boss about his sudden absence so that’s one immediately important thing he doesn’t have to worry about.

He doesn’t know what to make of Richie’s behavior. It confuses and worries him but Richie comes back soon enough and he’s not acting especially weird. He tosses Eddie a Snickers bar and a Twix, underhand so when Eddie misses both they land on his lap.

“You good?” Eddie asks around a delightful mouthful of chocolate and caramel.

“Peachy,” Richie says, settling back on his chair and opening a ginger ale. “So, have you really not seen Game of Thrones?” 

“No,” Eddie says. “Never. I read the summaries so I know what people at work are talking about.” 

“That somehow makes you more of a nerd,” Richie says and they fall back into easy conversation.

Eddie sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up feeling well rested and refreshed and he thinks maybe Stan did that for him too. 

* * *

A new doctor visits him in the morning and Eddie has to close his eyes to steady himself, an intense image burned into his mind at the sight of her even though he doesn’t recognize her face at all. Her hospital badge says Dr. Lana Dhar but the name isn’t familiar either. 

“Everything alright?” she asks, big brown eyes wide with concern. They look so familiar but he doesn’t know why. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie shakes his head. “I just...There were turtles,” he says like that’s a normal thing to say and not something that will make him need another psychological evaluation. She stares at him a moment before laughing.

“You remember that? I was wearing my turtle scrubs when they brought you in for surgery,” she grins. She’s wearing daisies on a blue background today. All the other hospital staff have worn plain solid colors. “Those are my wife’s favorite.” 

“They’re good,” Eddie says. “Turtles are good.” Very articulate. 

“I agree,” she smiles, examining his wounds. She whistles when she sees her handiwork. “I don’t mean to brag but that was the best surgery I’ve ever performed. You’re healing great. Great teamwork.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Eddie says. “Unless getting stabbed counts.” 

She laughs again and Eddie finds himself smiling, it’s infectious. “I meant your healing. I can’t do that for you so _good job_. You know I wasn’t even supposed to be working that day.”

“Oh,” Eddie blinks at her. “Well, thanks for saving my life.” Did Derry always have a surgeon? He doesn’t think Derry was big enough when he was a kid to have a surgeon but everything about the hospital is different. Derry is different. 

“Your cheek looks good too,” she says. “Might even be able to take out what hasn’t already dissolved by tomorrow.” 

He wishes he could talk to Stan about the turtle but he has a feeling he knows what Stan would confirm. Richie wordlessly catches his eye and from the look on his face he thinks yeah, that must mean something.

His phone won’t charge. “Must be water damage.” 

“You’re a fucking risk analyst and you didn’t get a model with water resistance?” Richie tosses Eddie’s useless phone into his duffel bag before collapsing back into his chair. It’s worrying just how exhausted he still looks. 

“Hindsight is twenty twenty. It didn’t seem important when all I did was go to work and the gym and home.” 

“Don’t forget the strip club.” 

“That was one time.” 

“Do you want me to go get you a new one?” 

“No,” Eddie says quickly. Richie is doing enough for him. “It’s not a big deal, I’ll get a new one later.”

“Do you want to borrow mine? I can log out of Pornhub if you have your own account,” Richie says. 

“I’m good, Rich. Something about the fluorescent lights and the IV and the fucking hospital smell doesn’t put me in the mood.” Not to mention he just got the catheter out yesterday and he has a hole in his shoulder but Richie doesn’t need reminding about that. 

“That’s a shame,” Richie says mildly, staring down at his phone. “There’s a demographic who’s really into that. You could make some easy money from the comfort of your hospital bed.” 

“Really?” Eddie finds the idea repulsive. “People are into that?”

“There’s people into literally everything, man. You don’t spend a lot of time on the internet do you?”

“No,” Eddie admits. “Are you...Is that what you’re into?” 

“Jesus Eddie, no,” Richie looks up at him. “You in a hospital bed is the least sexy thing I can think of. Well, it’s near the top of the list.”

Eddie nods, stroking the bear Ben gave him with his left hand. He’s lost some feeling in his left arm from the muscle damage, the softness of the bear is dulled slightly like there’s a barrier between it and his skin. It’s an oddly fascinating feeling. That’s probably the pain killers. He wants to ask Richie what he’s into. 

“I um,” Richie clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “I’m more into brunettes in short shorts and stupid big brown eyes. Fuck Eddie, even though I couldn’t remember you...You have no idea how many guys I’ve hit on in bars that look like they could be your cousin, brother, if I was lucky.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say around the lump in his throat so he says nothing, setting Ben’s bear - he should think of a name - on his lap so he can feel it with both hands, staring into its glassy blue eyes. It was a thoughtful gift. Eddie loves touching it, it’s relaxing. 

“Eddie,” Richie says softly, pulling his chair closer to the hospital bed. “Are you crying?” 

“No,” Eddie says, wiping at his eyes. He hadn’t even felt the tears fall. 

“I didn’t...Sorry that…” Richie huffs, his hand looking for a place to settle on Eddie before giving up and resting on the edge of the bed. “I can pretend to be a virgin if you want.” He sounds so serious Eddie bursts out laughing. He has to reign it in so he doesn’t fuck up his stitches. 

“That’s not,” he laughs again. “Seriously Rich, you think I’d be upset you got laid in the _twenty-seven years_ we forgot about each other? Even if we didn’t forget each other...” He’d never want to hold Richie back like that, deprive him of human contact and intimacy. 

“I don’t know,” Richie says, his defensive tone killing the rest of the laughter in Eddie’s chest. “I am. The idea of you being married is still fucking with me man, maybe I’m just an asshole.” 

“You’re not,” Eddie says. “Except when you are.” 

“Jeez, thanks Eds,” Richie starts to pull back and Eddie grabs his hand. 

“It wasn’t that,” Eddie says, stroking Richie’s hand with his thumb. He swallows. “It was...I’m trying not to dwell on it but...those years without you feel like such a fucking waste, you know?” Professionally Eddie had prospered, they’d all prospered, all of them that left Derry and they’d theorized about it but Eddie’s personal life has been a pathetic mess since he left. He struggled to make friends in college and the ones he made he didn’t hang onto after graduation and then he’d resigned himself to friendly, meaningless chatter with coworkers who didn’t actually care about him as a person. Meanwhile all his friends were existing, most of them just as lonely as Eddie was. And Richie...If he’d been able to stay in contact with Richie things would have been different. 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees, squeezing Eddie’s hand gently. “Fucking clown amnesia.” 

“Stan said,” he holds Richie’s hand tighter, he always has a reaction when he brings up Stan. “I have a second chance, not a time machine so there’s no reason to dwell on the past but it’s fucking hard.” 

“Yeah,” Richie sighs. “It’s still fucked.” 

Eddie nods. It’s hard not to get swept up in feeling sad and bitter about his years without Richie and the rest of the Losers but it’s a little easier when Richie is with him. He slowly lifts their clasped hands up. He still has a long way to go to recover his strength but Richie lets him lead his hand close enough for Eddie to press a gentle kiss to his knuckle. 

The police question him in the hospital, taking down his statement in the presence of Richie’s lawyer from Bangor. Eddie felt like he didn’t need a lawyer, he just needs to confirm what Ben and Beverly told them about Henry Bowers attacking him in his hotel room - he’s a little worried he’ll get in trouble for stabbing him back but it was self defense so he shouldn’t worry. The lawyer gets there faster than he should have, probably speeding the entire drive to Derry. He seems competent enough but Eddie doesn’t like the way he tries to convince him to sue the facility Bowers escaped from. It can’t possibly be their fault. How did Bowers even know where they were? No, there were forces at play beyond the control of the underpaid staff of a psychiatric hospital and Eddie isn’t going to take advantage of that. 

Bill was right about the police still being lax, just like the hospital. They had all assumed it had to do with the clown but it must be deeper, something inherent to Derry’s culture or maybe it will just take longer for things to change. Either way he’s grateful because they don’t second guess his story - not that there was anything to really second guess. He wasn’t there when Richie killed Bowers and they don’t question him about it. It feels like it happened a lifetime ago, to a different Eddie.

“I still can’t believe you stabbed him with his own knife after he stabbed you,” Richie says when they’re gone. “You’re such a fucking badass.” 

“I am?” Eddie asks and Richie gives him a _look_. “I am,” he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RE: beginning note. Maybe people think it’s not that deep, which is fair. It’s probably not that deep. She’s probably just a poorly written character. But that doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. It’s important to me and if it’s important to you or you’ve been emotionally abused (or any kind of abused) then I send you a virtual head nod and a virtual feelings validation. And if you read/watched either Myra interaction and thought that was a totally normal and acceptable way to communicate then I implore you to evaluate how your loved ones communicate with you/you with them. *slaps my -redacted- degree and the intangible amount of therapy I’ve had on the table* As cringe as it is to say, I know what I’m talking about. I’ll end this accidental PSA with: hey, take care of yourself out there and be kind to yourself and others. Also let’s skip the Denny’s parking lot because there’s a pandemic and I’m old and 4’11 and more anxiety disorder than person so I’d die and it would be awkward. And on a personal note, that phone call thing! Has happened to me! Literally!! My mother has called me back to say “You didn’t say I love you” and demanded that I say it and, surprise, she has NPD. It’s about the need for control and need for adoration. Watching that scene, after coming back down from being triggered, I thought WOW! They really used their time effectively in showing that she’s abusive and just as controlling as his mother! But then I saw people saying she’s not and there's no evidence of it and I *tornado sirens in my head* ?
> 
> For the record, I don’t think Eddie would cheat on Myra at all. I hope it didn’t come across as too OOC. It’s not even a headcanon thing I just felt like it was an interesting thing to explore and I’m sorry if it’s upsetting. It does come up again but the story doesn’t revolve around it. The guilt around it is definitely a theme though and there are consequences. That sounds ominous. I’m sorry if this was a disappointing turn.


	3. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's first taste of post-hospital freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a mention of conversion therapy, Myra's last desperate attempt at making Eddie go home with her, Richie being inexperienced at expressing his insecurities, Eddie having repressed trauma around sex as a gay man who forced himself to have sex with a woman, the beginning of Consent being an underlying theme, the incredibly insignificant detail that Eddie has a Samsung Galaxy S8+ phone (which hadn’t come out yet in 2016 but whatever. If you pause on the screen in his car you can see the phone model which is my brand of insignificant detail I devour). 
> 
> If you have a need for a kind of cheesy 90s love song with reddie energy Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover is a good one.

_That old dog has you chained up alright_

_Give you everything you need to live inside a twisted cage_

_Sleep beside an empty rage_

_I had a dream I was your hero_

_Damn I wish I was your lover_

_I’ll rock you till the daylight comes_

_Make sure you are smiling and warm_

Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover - Sophie B. Hawkins

The sound of his wedding ring hitting the bottom of the trashcan has a pleasant ring to his ears. He’d taken it off the day he woke up even though he didn’t know what to do with it but there’s no way he’s leaving the hospital with it weighing him down. 

His reflection in the mirror is haggard but he feels better, emotionally at least, dressed in a worn pair of plaid pajama pants he’d stuffed in his suitcase and one of Richie’s button up shirts - the diamond pattern clashes with the plaid but he doesn’t even care. His nice work shirts were too stiff and fitted to be comfortable and Richie’s shirt is extremely comfortable. Whether that’s because of the fit or just because it’s Richie’s he’s not sure. He’d only been able to button the first three buttons on his own. “You look like a guy on the cover of a romance novel,” Richie had said but Eddie hadn’t seen it. He thought he looked more like a pirate who’d been lost at sea with no rations left. Richie had buttoned it the rest of the way for him and he’s still feeling the fluttering in his stomach from the close contact. 

The scar on his cheek is visible even through the stubble. He wonders when he’ll get used to looking in the mirror and seeing it there. Richie said it was proof of his badassery which he has to admit, he likes, philosophically at least. But the scar and the stubble and the hollowness in his cheeks makes him feel like he’s looking at a stranger. 

The pain medication is making him drowsy but he’s still awake, at least for now. He marvels at the fresh summer air as soon as the door to the hospital opens. It feels like freedom. It’s amazing how many details of living he’s never really appreciated before. The sky is so blue. The grass is so green. Even the pattern in the concrete is beautiful. Fresh air has never tasted so good.

Myra is waiting outside with her rental car when an orderly wheels him out of the hospital, Richie following behind carrying the flowers from Beverly and his duffel bag with Eddie’s discharge instructions and medications - justified this time, he has to remind himself that these aren’t placebos and he should take them.

“I’m not going with you, Myra,” he tells her again, managing to sound patient. “We talked about this yesterday.” It frustrates him that she didn’t leave when he told her to but that’s to be expected. She’s stubborn and Eddie has always rewarded her by giving in, even when he’d had the guts to resist. It was awkward, every time she showed up back in his room but she hadn’t stuck around for long periods.

“Eddie, please,” she begs. “Just get in the car. You need to clear your head. I’ll take you home and take care of you and things will be how they always were. I booked you an appointment with a specialist, he’ll help you get back to normal.” 

“No,” he says more firmly, gripping Ben’s bear so his hands don’t shake. Richie had offered to put it in his duffel bag but Eddie wanted to hold it, the softness under his fingertips outweighing any embarrassment he had about being a man being wheeled through a hospital with a pink teddy bear on his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with me, Myra. I’m not going to conversion therapy.” 

“I um...I’ll go get the car,” Richie says stiffly before Myra can start yelling at him. 

Myra opens the passenger door and stares pointedly at the orderly and then Eddie when she doesn’t wheel him closer before she gives up and gets in the car. 

“Wow, sir. I’ve seen a few wife and lover standoffs before but this one is different.” 

“Glad we could entertain,” Eddie says mildly. Myra hasn’t driven away yet. She appears to be talking on her phone. 

Richie pulls up to the curb behind Myra in the ridiculous red convertible. He has to admit he’d liked the car when Richie drove him back to the hotel from the Jade, even through all the panic. There was something exhilarating about being with Richie in such a small space, the potential in the wheels on the pavement. He’s always loved the possibilities inherent in driving. Anywhere, he could go anywhere. It made him think about his fantasies as a kid; running away with Richie who wanted out of Derry desperately. At the time Eddie hadn’t understood why. Richie’s parents seemed to treat him fine, he didn’t know what he was running from but maybe he can guess now. 

Richie seems nervous as he helps buckle Eddie into the car. He hasn’t been sleeping well, Eddie’s not sure if he should even be driving but at this point he’s not worrying about it, they’re not going far anyway. 

“I’m fine,” he says when Richie checks a second time that his seatbelt is on, Ben’s bear on his lap and the flowers between his knees. “Really Rich, you don’t have to make such a fuss.” 

“You’re one to talk. _Fussing_ is your fucking love language.” 

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Eddie says, thinking of all the things Richie did as a kid that filled Eddie with concern, how he’d fuss over Richie for every scraped knee. He wonders if Richie ever did things just to get Eddie’s attention. 

Is he like his mother? The fact he even has to think about it makes him nauseous. He tries not to be, he really does. Sonia Kaspbrak had been bad at love, he knows that, and he’s actively tried not to imitate her in that regard, or any regard. 

“Shit,” Richie curses, his hands white knuckled on the steering wheel as they pull out of the parking lot. “She’s following us. Fuck. I knew I should have waited her out. Damn it, what should I do? Should I lose her? This car is faster.” 

“You’re not getting into a fucking car chase with my ex-wife. It’s fine,” Eddie says. “She can’t do anything.” 

“Are you sure, man? She scares the shit out of me. What if she…” Richie’s eyes keep drifting to the rear-view mirror. He looks panicked. He gives Eddie a quick look. “Look, I’m going to be fucking honest, Eds. I’m scared she’ll convince you to go back to her.” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie stares at his profile. Richie seems set on staring at the road with determination, his jaw clenched. He feels like Richie just punched him in the gut. He feels shaky. He has to grab the vase so it doesn’t fall. “Fuck you. I told you I’m _gay_ and I’m done lying about it. I’m not going back to her.” 

“I know, Eds, it’s just.” Richie sounds so exhausted it kills most of Eddie’s anger. “You were just as gay when you married her, right? You can always go back in the closet if it’s easier.” 

“Richie,” Eddie says, his throat constricting. He reaches over and squeezes Richie’s leg and he seems to relax a little. He lets the contact ground him. “I’m not going back. I told you.” 

“You say that but -”

“Richie,” Eddie says, a warning in his tone. 

“I knew you’re mom, ok? She was manipulative as all hell and your...She reminds me of her.” 

“I know,” Eddie admits, relaxing his head into the headrest. He wills the tears in his eyes not to fall. His chest aches, even through the pain medication. “Please Rich, I’m asking for you to have some fucking faith in me.” He knows he doesn’t deserve it. He told Richie how many tries it took to leave his mother and even then it had only been her death that had freed him. Physically at least.

Richie lets out a long breath. “You’re right.” His voice is quiet and Eddie tries to blink the tears out of his eyes. “I’m sorry. You deserve that. I believe in you, Eds. I’ve always believed in you. You’re a tough son of a bitch. I’m...That was shitty. Sorry. Really.” 

“Thanks, Rich.” He tries to let the hurt go, the shame that his own weakness put him in this position. Eddie glances in the side-view mirror. Myra is dangerously close to tailgating. “I don’t think you’re losing her, you should just go to the townhouse.”

“We’re not going back there, man. You got fucking stabbed there, you think I’m going to take you back there? Plus _she’s_ staying there. No, I got us an Airbnb. It’s fucking wild there are Airbnb’s in fucking Derry of all places. Who the hell wants to stay here? Is that ok?”

“That’s fine,” Eddie says. It is weird, thinking of modern technology and culture existing in Derry - the town is frozen in amber in his mind, just the same as when he was a kid but that’s not the case. Derry changed. It grew. More than Eddie grew in those long years. 

“I wanted to get something different, something that wouldn’t feel like we were kids again staying at one of our parent’s houses, you know? So I got an apartment on Center Street. It’s new and the view is pretty nice. You can see the canal and Bassey Park and there’s an elevator so you don’t have to do stairs.” 

“That’s great, Rich,” Eddie soothes him. It does sound nice but Richie could have said he booked them the rubble of 29 Neibolt Street and he still would have stayed there with him. 

He noticed when he arrived in Derry that the town had changed, grown, but downtown looks exactly the same as he remembers, at least on the outside. The buildings are the same but some of the businesses are different. The wreckage of the Kitchener Ironworks is a mall now and there’s a strip-mall too. All the modern conveniences to keep people from having to leave. He shouldn’t be surprised that Derry prospered in the in-between years. It needed to feed, after all, it makes sense that the town had to be appealing enough to lure in fresh prey. 

Myra follows them into the parking lot behind the building, parking directly behind them, trapping them in the spot. Eddie isn’t sure what her goal was with that maneuver, it’s not like they’re trying to leave by car right now. They just need to get out and go into the building. 

Richie needs a few moments before he’s ready to open the door. Myra opens hers at the same time and Eddie sighs. At least the car door is to his right so he can open the door himself. She makes a scene while Richie helps Eddie out of the car and it would be sad if it was just directed at him but she’s directing too much anger at Richie, too many insults, and it’s infuriating him. 

“Myra, _stop_. You need to stop talking to him like that, this isn’t his fault,” Eddie says. 

“What do you mean, _it’s not his fault_?” she says. “You leave for Maine to be with _him_ and then I get the call that you’re in the hospital and when I get there it’s like I don’t even exist? You just met this man, Eddie, what are you thinking?”

“Myra, I’ve known Richie longer than you and even if I didn’t you need to drop it. I’m not going home and you’re starting to make me angry so I’d appreciate it if you’d just go. Go home.” 

“It’s _our home_ , Eddie! You need to come too! I’m not leaving you with him!” Myra shouts, eyeing Richie like he’s a cockroach she found under their bathroom sink.

“He said beat it, lady,” Richie says when Myra opens her mouth again.

“You can’t talk to me like that! Eddie tell him -”

“Just go, Myra. I’m done. I’ll have a lawyer get in touch soon. Goodbye.” 

“But,” she tries one more time, her eyes swimming with tears. “Eddie, I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, his throat suddenly tight. He hates himself at that moment. He never should have married her, never should have given in to what he felt society expected of him. He shouldn’t have done it for himself but he shouldn’t have done it for her more. If he knew how badly it would hurt her he would have called it off like he knew he should have. 

“Eddie, baby,” Myra says gently, voice suddenly full of warm compassion and with sudden shocking clarity he knows it’s fake, knows it’s meant to make him give in. It feels like someone is twisting a knife into his heart. 

“Come on,” Richie says softly, his hand on Eddie’s lower back, guiding him toward the door. Richie inputs the code in the door and lets Eddie in, making sure the door is shut behind them. “Elevator’s this way,” he mumbles, rubbing Eddie’s back as he cries. Eddie doesn’t remember what this building used to be. It’s old and brick and might have always been apartments but it’s definitely been remodeled. It occurs to Eddie that the security code on the door was probably what really drew Richie to it. 

They’re staying on the top floor and Richie was right, the view is beautiful. The floor plan is open, the ceiling high and the decor contemporary and masculine. The stools at the kitchen island are metal and look uncomfortable but there’s a small, round wooden dining table with matching chairs. There’s a comfortable looking brown leather couch with a reasonable amount of cushions in front of a sizable TV and an armchair off to the side, a wooden coffee table with brochures for local attractions and takeout menus spread out. There’s also a shelf with books and DVDs which he’ll probably explore later. It feels like the exact opposite of the last vacation rental he’d stayed at with Myra, which has been years ago now; all pastels and frills and Eddie felt like smothering himself to death on one of the twenty cushions on the couch. Eddie sits on the couch, feeling awful and drained, his tears slowing because he’s too tired to even cry right now.

Richie can’t decide where to put the vase of flowers - the kitchen island, the dining table, the coffee table, he keeps moving them around restlessly and Eddie just watches. 

“Should I…I can put them in the bedroom,” he finally says.

“Put them wherever you want,” Eddie sighs, getting off the couch to carefully shuffle over to the balcony. He eases himself onto one of the two red Adirondack chairs, leaving the door open behind him to let fresh air in. It’s late afternoon now and Eddie closes his eyes. The air in New York is never this fresh. Bangor is supposed to have some of the cleanest air in the country and Derry isn’t far from Bangor. When Eddie had read about it he didn’t even think about the fact that he’d been born near there, must have spent his childhood breathing in air free from particle pollution. Queens is nowhere near the worst for air pollution but it’s still not great. His mother used to try to limit the time he spent outside when they moved to Queens; she said it was dangerous and the air would make his asthma worse but the clean air in Derry hadn’t made her any more willing to let him outside. The slow pace of traffic down Center Street is relaxing. It’s almost enough to make him want to move somewhere smaller. Richie lives in California. Almost all the worst cities for air quality are in California but Eddie can’t imagine them tasting like anything other than freedom. 

“Fuck,” Richie curses and Eddie jerks awake. He’s looking off the edge of the balcony, his back tense. Eddie makes an inquisitive noise, trying to keep his eyes open. “She moved around to the front. Why would she...Fuck, what if someone lets her in?” 

“Then we won’t open the door,” Eddie says. “She can’t break down the door. We’re fine.” 

“Should I wait for her to leave or go get the bags?” Richie asks, still peering over the balcony. 

The car is on the other side of the building so Eddie doesn’t see a problem with it. She’ll leave eventually. She hates change, it’s the biggest thing the two of them have in common but she’ll adjust. There’s no other choice. Eddie lets himself relax in the chair. 

“Hey Eddie,” Richie calls from inside the apartment. “Come tell these cops you’re not being held against your will.” 

Eddie sighs and forces himself out of the chair. 

“I’m not giving her alimony,” Eddie says, settling himself down on the couch after the police officers left to have strong words with Myra about false police reports. He can’t believe she called them, and with Richie already on their radar because of Henry Bowers. “I was going to give it willingly because I feel like shit about it but fuck that.” 

“I hate your fucking wife Eds,” Richie spits out, pacing around the apartment. “She’s a real fucking bitch.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say. His knee jerk reaction is to tell Richie to shut up, just like when he would criticize Eddie’s mother, on the rare occasion he wasn’t joking about fucking her, but he’d never really been wrong and Richie is entitled to his anger. He doesn’t blame Richie. Even if Richie and Myra had met under better circumstances, Eddie can’t picture what those would be, he can’t picture a circumstance where they would meet where Eddie hasn’t trapped himself in a marriage to someone he doesn’t love, they would still hate each other. 

“I’m not going back. You know that, right?” 

“I believe you,” Richie says, stopping his pacing to look at Eddie. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Eddies says. This is his fault. “I shouldn’t have married her.” 

“If you were looking for a beard you could have done way fucking better, Eds.” 

“I...Thanks? I think. I guess I just…” Eddie shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Being with her felt familiar. I thought she was what I deserved.”

“Fuck that,” Richie says, his tone fierce. “You deserve way better.”

“Thanks Rich,” Eddie says to his lap. 

“Hey,” Richie says, his voice suddenly soft and Eddie looks up at him. Richie’s warm eyes are on him, an unreadable expression on his face. He looks away, his brow furrowed and he clears his throat. “What do you want to eat? I was going to make a grocery list and text it to Mike. I don’t want to leave you alone with her lurking around out there probably trying to get a swat team together to kidnap you also I’m not fucking over you being alive.”

They make a list together, the simple and sudden domesticity of it settling Eddie’s stress about Myra. Myra never consulted him about their grocery list and if he bought something that wasn’t on it she would scold him for it even though she did it all the time. 

This is much better than the hospital. He has freedom of movement, he doesn’t have to ask Richie to shield his eyes when he gets up to use the bathroom, the leather couch is way more comfortable, the TV is bigger, and Richie hadn’t objected or moved away when Eddie sat down close enough for their shoulders to touch.

“I can’t believe you like trashy reality TV,” Richie says, looking up from his phone. 

“It’s the drugs,” Eddie says. 

“Sure it is Eds.”

“I could turn _SportsCenter_ back on,” Eddie says, already reaching for the remote. He missed so many baseball games while he was in the hospital. The Mets are doing pretty well which makes him happy even if he didn’t get to watch. 

“God no,” Richie says quickly. “I’m suddenly extremely invested in these housewives and the realness of their lives…You know, I live there. Beverly Hills.” 

“Really?” He can’t picture it, Richie living among the fancy buildings and palm trees but maybe it’s not that weird, given the kind of flashy rental car he’d chosen - seriously, who drives a convertible in Maine? “I’ve never been to California.” 

“You’d hate it. It’s hot and there’s always traffic and smog and the threat of earthquakes and fires and droughts and in thirty years it’ll probably all be under water.” 

“I hate New York City,” Eddie says. “You can never escape the crowds. The subway is filthy and never on time but driving fucking sucks. How does no one know how to drive?” Maybe that’s unfair to New York City, he loved it when he first moved there, after he’d gotten over the initial intimidation. It had been big and exciting and full of opportunity even as his mother constantly reminded him it was also filled with potential peril. His anxiety had left him few opportunities to enjoy it and everything he hates about it had gradually become amplified with his stress over hating himself and his life. But there are still things he loves about the city he always thought of as his hometown. 

“Are you going back?”

“No,” Eddie decides. He’d been leaning that direction but now it’s certain, it felt right as soon as he said it. “Not to live at least. I was miserable there for too many years, I want a fresh start. The firm has other branches, I can transfer somewhere else and if they won’t let me go, I’ll just quit.” The thought makes him nauseous but a little excited. He actually likes his job. He’s good at it which makes him feel good, accomplished; but he can’t deny that it also stresses him out. Maybe it’s time for a change.

“Where do you want to go?” 

“I don’t know yet. Right now I just want a fucking vacation. I haven’t taken a vacation in years. I keep passing up my sabbatical because I’m a fucking workaholic. Working let me not think about all the things I was trying to avoid thinking about. Now I just...I don’t know, I want to go to Mexico and sit on a beach with my toes in the sand and drink a margarita the size of my head.” 

“That’s not that impressive, your head is all small and cute,” Richie grins at him. 

“Your head then.” 

“That’a boy. I’ve been to Mexico a few times, it’s fun. Well I assume I had fun, mostly I just remember having tequila. I could...I could take you. Fuck, I’d take you to the rock and mineral museum in Nowhere, South Dakota if that’s where you want to go.” 

“Thanks Richie, I’d love that.” Eddie can feel heat in his face. Richie wants to go with him and it doesn’t matter where. He can’t quite believe it. He needs more time to process but Richie is looking at him, waiting for him to say something. “I promise to keep all my rock and mineral museum visits to less than an hour.” 

“An hour? Jesus Eddie it should take like fifteen minutes tops, including the gift shop.” A knock on the door interrupts them. Eddie turns off the TV, the two of them sitting there, staring at the door. Eddie misses the warmth radiating off of Richie immediately when he gets up to look through the peephole. He opens the door. “Mike, how long do you think you need to spend in a rock museum to see that different rocks exist?”

“I assume you’re not talking about rock music,” Mike says, coming in and setting the grocery bags on the kitchen island, taking in the apartment. 

“That’s why you have to add ‘mineral’ after,” Eddie says, struggling a little to stand up. Richie looks like he’s ready to sprint over but he holds up his hand, he’s fine, he’s got this. 

“It depends on how big it is. Maybe half an hour, if you’re in a hurry,” Mike says. “Why? Do you guys want to go to the rock and mineral museum? I get a discount.”

“Shit, there’s one in Derry?” Richie asks, unpacking the groceries Mike brought in. Eddie got up to help but he just ends up watching, leaning against the counter. It feels good to stretch his legs. 

“Didn’t you go on a field trip in elementary school? My church school went,” Mike says, looking between them. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, the memory flooding back in. He liked it, he remembers, even though he felt scared that somehow someone would be able to tell how pretty he thought the pink rose quartz was and make fun of him. “Stan kept falling behind because he wanted to read every word on all the signs.” 

“I don’t remember,” Richie shrugs. “Some things are too boring to remember even without fucked up alien magic making you forget them. The idea of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin from boredom though so my body must remember.”

Mike stays for dinner which means Mike makes dinner, with some assistance from Richie - Mike’s mother’s famous baked chicken and roasted vegetables. Eddie doesn’t follow most of the conversation, dozing in and out on the couch but their conversation is pleasant background noise, it makes him feel safe and content and the food smells amazing. 

“Eddie,” Mike says when they’ve settled in at the small circular dining table. “I’m sorry I called your wife. I didn’t know things weren’t good between you.” 

“It’s fine,” Eddie assures him. “There’s no way you could have known man, calling someone’s spouse when they’re bleeding out is a normal fucking thing to do.” Richie puts down his fork and gets up, silently walking to the balcony, his back rigid. Mike looks at Eddie uncertainly. 

“You…” Mike begins, concern etched into his face. “You’re doing really great, Eddie. I’m proud of how well you’re doing but is Richie...Is he alright?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits, keeping his voice quiet. “He hasn’t been sleeping well,” Eddie says although he knows that’s not all that’s wrong. It’s strange to think about but while Eddie had been unconscious, communing with Stan, Richie had been keeping a vigil in his room. He hasn’t started to think about what that must have been like for him. 

They don’t say anything about it when Richie comes back, sitting silently and picking up his fork like he didn’t leave for several minutes. 

“Great chicken, Mike. You missed your calling as a chef.”

“Thanks Richie,” Mike says and Eddie wholeheartedly agrees. 

“Maybe you could travel cross country with a food truck,” Richie suggests. “See the sights and serve sides.” 

“That’s a great idea,” Mike chuckles indulgently, warm eyes full of affection and it hits Eddie again how lonely he must have been, the only one to remember and carry both their burden and their love by himself. “Hey Eddie, if you feel up to it tomorrow we were thinking of having a late Labor Day barbecue at Bassey Park, as a farewell party for the others.” 

Of course everyone will scatter to the wind again now that he’s out of the hospital. It’s shocking that they stuck around this long, they’ve all got lives they need to get back to. None of them had mentioned needing to leave when they’d visited him, like time had stopped meaning anything to all of them and not just Eddie while he lived in limbo.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he says.

“You sure Eds?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says, eyes on Richie. He looks so fucking exhausted, maybe Mike should have asked Richie if he was up for it instead. “I think I can handle watching you all grilling and drinking beers. It’s just a few blocks away Rich, I can sit there just as well as the couch.” 

“Anything I should bring, Mike? Besides this ray of sunshine?” He jerks his thumb in Eddie’s direction. 

“Just Eddie and your winning personality,” Mike grins. “We’ve got it. It’s not going to be anything fancy, mostly stuff from the grocery store deli.” 

“I’m offended Michael,” Richie says around a mouthful of food. “If you loved me you’d make me potato salad and baked beans from scratch.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mike,” Eddie says quickly because he thinks Mike might actually do that.

It’s quieter after Mike leaves. Richie had to stop Mike from washing the dishes. “You’re a real mensch, Mikey, now get out of here,” Richie had said and Eddie was overcome with another wave of affection for them. He loves all his friends individually but he also loves them together, their easy, playful dynamic. He didn’t realize how much he missed that.

Eddie listens to the sound of the sink running as Richie washes everything. He considers coming up behind him, wrapping his arms around Richie’s solid warmth and breathing him in but instead he gathers his things and heads to the bathroom. He has to come back out, his - Richie’s - shirt unbuttoned. Richie glances at him briefly and then does a double take, his hands in the soapy water. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, feeling self conscious under Richie’s stare. “Can you get the bandage? So I can shower.” 

“No problemo,” Richie says. A nurse had walked Richie through it even though it’s extremely simple but it feels differently now, outside the sterile environment of the hospital. It doesn't take long, Eddie turns around and slips the shirt far enough down to expose his shoulder, Richie cleans his hands and removes the bandage. It’s professional, clinical. Eddie wishes he would have touched him more. 

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles. 

It’s his first shower in more than a week. The hospital had given him multiple sponge baths, which is mortifying but at least Richie assured him he always left the room. He still doesn’t like the idea though, that a stranger was so intimate with his body but he supposes the alternative was being dirty when he woke and at least it was a medical professional. The distinct hospital smell is clinging to him though and he wants it gone. He has to be careful with his stitches and he can barely move his left arm but he manages everything one handed. He has to make it quick because his legs are weak but he feels good about it. Showering has never felt like an accomplishment but he’ll take the feeling. 

It’s the first time he’s gotten a good look at his wound, staring at it in the slightly foggy bathroom mirror. The stitches on his cheek had healed impressively fast but his stitched together shoulder still looks ugly, all the bruising and the stark contrast between dark sutures and his pale skin. It’s jarring but he feels oddly detached from it, like he’s looking at someone else’s body but that happens sometimes when he looks in the mirror after a shower, well at least after - no he doesn’t want to think about that. He puts a fresh bandage over the suture so his shirt doesn’t rub against it. He’ll have to have Richie get the back. He pulls on clean pajama pants and a button up pajama shirt, too warm for summer.

Richie has the pullout couch set up by the time he gets out of the bathroom. He had assumed that’s where Richie would sleep seeing as his duffel bag was by the couch and Eddie’s bags were in the bedroom but still…

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie clears his throat, leaning up against the doorway for support. Richie looks up from his phone, eyes bleary. _Do you want to sleep with me?_ He can’t ask that, doubt suddenly settling in. Will Richie think it’s too soon? Too weird? He keeps talking about how weird it is for him that Eddie is married. Does he need to get over that first, before they can start anything? There’s no way anything remotely sexual is happening tonight, or any time soon; if Eddie asks Richie to sleep with him will he think it’s about sex? It is undeniably a romantic offer. Richie said he’s never shared a bed with anyone. He said he loved Eddie, would take him anywhere but does Richie even _want_ him after everything he told him? He should ask but the words stick in his throat. 

“What’s up?” he prompts. 

“Do you...Do you think I should grow a beard?” he asks, feeling extremely stupid.

Richie looks at him a moment before bursting into laughter with a snort that should be unattractive but it’s Richie so Eddie finds it achingly charming. “I hate to break it to you Eds, but you already are.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says. He feels his cheek and chin. He had just looked in the mirror, he knows what he looks like. “But should I shave it or let it grow?” It itches. He doesn’t want to wait until it stops itching, he knows that it would eventually but he’s always been pointedly anti-discomfort. But maybe Richie likes guys with beards - real beards, not the sad kind of beard Eddie has. 

“You really want my opinion?” Richie asks when he’s calmed down. It really hadn’t been that funny but Richie always laughed more at sleepovers when he was tired and refusing to sleep yet - Eddie had always joined him in giggling over nothing, wanting to milk every moment he had with Richie before he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Eddie nods and Richie clears his throat, suddenly looking at the door frame above Eddie’s head before looking at him again. “I think it should be a crime for someone with bone structure like yours to cover it up.”

“Oh,” Eddie says again, feeling warm all over. “I’ll shave tomorrow.” He doesn’t have the energy to do it tonight and not leave the bathroom a complete gross, hairy mess. He stays where he is, staring at Richie sitting on the edge of the pull out. He’s wearing a plain grey undershirt, tight across his chest and a ridiculous pair of sweatpants with slices of pizza all over them; it’s such a bizarre mix of attractive and silly that it makes Eddie feel like he’s a teenager again, unsure if he should make up an excuse to touch Richie or laugh at him. He should just ask him, he’s being stupid. 

“Do you want me to tuck you in or…” 

“No,” Eddie says. _Yes_. The last couple days Richie has always been there when he woke up, slumped in an uncomfortable chair but the sight of him had made Eddie feel better instantly. “Can you bandage my back?” 

“Sure thing,” Richie says and then he’s behind Eddie, Eddie’s shirt pulled out of the way. Eddie stares at his feet. He wishes he’d packed his slippers. He’s lucky he shoved his favorite gym shoes in the bag because his sewer shoes are, rightfully, landfill-bound. It’s a shame, he’d liked those shoes.

“Thanks Rich,” Eddie says to his toes when he’s finished. 

“No problem,” he says. “Do you want that buttoned?” Eddie nods and turns around, unable to look away from Richie’s face as he buttons Eddie’s shirt. He looks like it takes a lot of concentration, his eyes narrowed. When he’s done he takes a quick step away from Eddie and Eddie can’t help but be hurt by how fast he’d taken himself out of touching range. “Night Eds.” 

“Goodnight,” Eddie says, turning away to head to the bedroom alone, the door closing with a quiet but final click.

The bed is softer than he’s used to but it feels better than the hospital bed. It’s also huge and empty. Richie hadn’t wanted to sleep with him; Richie said he would go anywhere with Eddie but he didn’t want to get in bed with him and he hadn’t wanted Eddie to touch him. Richie had loved Eddie when they were young and Eddie had loved him too but now so much time has passed, will Richie love this version of Eddie too? After everything Eddie told him when he woke up? Realistically they’ve known each other again for under two weeks and Eddie was unconscious or sedated for most of that time. Maybe he’ll change his mind. Maybe he already has and doesn’t know how to break the news. Eddie is overthinking, Eddie has always excelled at overthinking. The part of his brain that sounds suspiciously like his mother (or is it Myra?) tells him that Richie is a stranger who he barely knows but he knows that’s not true; he’s still _Richie_ and Eddie can’t wait to learn about the between years, the stupid clown stolen years. He’ll ask tomorrow. 

* * *

It’s a perfect day to be outside, a light breeze ruffling his hair, fresh air filling his lungs. The park is almost exactly the same as when they were kids except the playground equipment has been updated. Richie attempts the monkey bars after Eddie is settled at a picnic table near a grill, long legs bent so he can’t cheat as Beverly cheers him on. It’s almost empty on a weekday afternoon and it’s perfect, Beverly’s laughter floating on the breeze as she and Richie come to join Eddie, Ben, and Mike at the picnic table. She looks lighter, happier than at the hospital, her smile infectious. Most of them look happier, even Richie when he smiles and laughs although he still looks tired. Eddie suspects from the look of him this morning he hadn’t slept well but he chugged enough coffee that at least he looks alert now.

Bill arrives last, swinging a plastic bag with a beautiful smile on his face and Eddie aches in his heart because this must be what heaven feels like, if heaven exists, surrounded by his friends, all happy and safe and laughing but Stan isn’t there, at least not in any tangible way. He hopes Stan is watching and enjoying himself too. 

“I got you something, Eddie,” Bill says, setting the bag in front of him with a bright smile. Eddie eyes the bag suspiciously. It’s a brand new phone. The same Samsung Galaxy phone he had before and a new red phone case.

“What the fuck Bill?” Eddie says, shoving it back in the bag. “This is way too much man.” 

“It’s ok, I wanted to. It’s entirely selfish, if that makes you feel better,” he smiles that disarming Bill smile and Eddie gives in already. “I was going to get you an iPhone but Richie told me you had one of these.” Eddie shoots Richie a look. He’s torn because he told Richie he could get his own phone but endeared that Richie hadn’t let Bill buy him an iPhone. “You’re the only one not in the group chat and most of us are leaving tomorrow. You really want to trust Richie to be the middle-man for communication?” 

“Hey,” Richie interjects, mock offended. 

“Remember how many times he purposely messed up our games of telephone?” Beverly laughs.

“I guess not,” Eddie says, placing the plastic bag between his legs so he won’t forget it. “Thanks Big Bill. Really, you didn’t have to.” There’s an embarrassing lump in his throat but Bill looks happy. _Don’t be mad_. Eddie tries not to think about that, his freeze up in the house. Bill seems content not to hold it against him. 

“It’s no problem. You need anything you let me know, ok? Any of you,” he looks around at all of them and Eddie feels overwhelmed again with how much he loves them all. 

“Yeah, if you don’t fucking forget about me tomorrow I want to be in one of your movies. I need it man, my career is in freefall,” Richie says, a hint of bitterness in his voice that Eddie thinks is sincere. 

They’re flying out tomorrow, Bill, Beverly and Ben. None of them know what will happen for sure.

“I won’t forget,” Bill says, his confidence quieting the worry in Eddie’s head for a moment. 

“I’d like that in writing,” Richie says. 

“This time will be different, right?” Ben asks, giving them all a concerned look, his eyes lingering on Beverly. 

“Hypothetically,” Mike says. “It makes sense that it would be different. The forgetting was part of Its magic, Its defense mechanism, so now that it's gone…” 

“Fucking clown,” Richie mutters. “I need a drink, where’s the cooler?” 

“Can you get me one?” Ben asks.

It’s easy to push aside the darkness when they’re together. There’s so much to talk about. Ben and Beverly are heading to Chicago. Beverly has her divorce to deal with, plus she’d talked matter of factly about pressing charges for domestic violence at the hospital. They also talk about visiting Florida for the weekend for some late summer fun which Richie declares offensively basic - two attractive people on a beach, how original. Bill has been working long distance on his latest movie adaptation but he’s ready to rejoin his wife on set. She’d actually visited for a couple days while Eddie was in the hospital. 

“You better not have brought a literal movie star to the hospital to meet me while I was fucking out of it,” Eddie says, the idea of a movie star hovering over him while he was comatose or mumbling to himself is too embarrassing. 

“I didn’t,” Bill assures him, giving him a strained smile that Eddie can’t make sense of but it doesn’t seem like the right time to ask about it.

Mike is going to stick around a little longer and Eddie hopes it’s not for his sake, Mike has already given up enough of his life in service to others. Bill gifted him a new laptop and fancy microphone so Mike can start a podcast about his upcoming travels. 

“I want a review of every bar from every podunk town you drive through,” Richie says.

“I was going to cover history but if you think I should do bar reviews instead.”

“I can’t wait to listen, Mike,” Ben says. 

“If anyplace is as fucked up as Derry the world needs to know,” Bill says. 

“Are you going to do a Derry episode?” Beverly asks, picking at the deli macaroni salad - delicious in Eddie’s opinion but he seems to be in the minority. He’d always heard people say hunger is the best spice but in Eddie’s case maybe the best spice is death.

“I’m not sure,” Mike laughs. “If I do it, I’d have to lie. Telling the world about a shape-shifting alien who feeds off fear would certainly make a strong first impression, but not the kind I want.” 

“I think you could do it,” Bill says. “Yeah, if you present it as a mystery it would work. It’s just a bunch of weird tragedies if you don’t bring the clown into it. It could be really interesting.”

“You have a point,” Mike says after a moment of thinking it over. “Do you want to be my first guest? I already have all the material for it, we could record it tonight.” 

“Wow,” Richie cuts in. “Arranging a date right in front of us? Passing up on an even bigger celebrity?” He gestures to himself. “I see how it is Mikey.” 

“You want to join, Rich?” Mike grins at him. 

“Make my triumphant return to the media on a boring history podcast? No offense Mike. Yeah sure, I’m in, unless…” He eyes Eddie. 

“What?” Eddie asks. “I can survive a few hours without you, asshole. I’m not a fucking baby. You should do it.” 

“We could record it at your Airbnb,” Mike suggests. 

“Guys,” Eddie sighs with exasperation.

“Relax Eds.” Richie reaches over the picnic table to pinch Eddie’s freshly shaved cheek. He’d taken out his electric razor this morning and almost put it back when he remembered it was a Christmas present from Myra but it’s unavoidable, they bought each other so many practical gifts, devoid of sentimentality. “It’s not because you need us, it’s because you have such a pretty face and everyone wants to look at it more.” 

“Beep-beep, Richie,” Eddie mutters, still feeling the warmth of his touch. 

The Losers offer sympathy and jokes about Richie’s career - his flopped show after Mike’s call, which Mike apologizes for with such sincerity Richie’s joke about blaming him for it makes Eddie kick him lightly under the table. He admits he cancelled the rest of his tour in Eddie’s hospital room and it turns Eddie’s stomach; he doesn’t want to hold Richie back, it’s the worst possible thing he could do. 

“Don’t look like that, Eds,” Richie says, nudging his foot under the table, his voice losing the joking edge. “The jokes sucked anyway. I’m going to start writing my own material so next time I choke it’ll at least be on my own stupid shit.” 

It makes him feel mildly better. “It was terrible, I didn’t laugh once,” he says. “I know you have a questionable sense of humor but you’re funnier than that bullshit.” 

“Jeez, thanks for the glowing review Eds. That means you watched it though.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, meeting his eyes. “Some of my coworkers like that kind of garbage. I re-watched your shit all the way from the cab to the airport until take off. It didn’t feel like you up there.” 

“I couldn’t make it through. You looked good on stage though. I can design you something even better to wear,” Beverly grins and Richie perks up. Eddie has to agree, he at least looked good on stage. Concentrating on the bullshit coming out of Richie’s mouth was hard, Eddie kept getting distracted by it being Richie, Richie fucking Tozier; grown up and tall and handsome even as the cadence of the jokes felt wrong. It wasn’t just the words. Richie had lost his energy.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Bill admits. “I watched a few clips while I waited for my flight.” 

“I never saw it, sorry Richie,” Ben says when they look at him for input. “I’ll definitely catch your new stuff.” 

“Mike?” Richie grins at him but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You a fan?” 

“I uh,” Mike seems embarrassed, toying with the label on his bottle of beer. “I’ve seen everything you’ve ever done. Standup, interviews, voice acting. It made me laugh. I was just happy to see you, Rich. Happy that you made it...I’ve seen everything you’ve all done. Bev’s fashion shows, Bill’s books and movies, Ben’s architecture magazine interviews. Eddie was harder to keep up with until Facebook. Your ex-wife posts a lot of public stuff on there.”

That’s true and it had always bothered him, how much Myra shared with strangers on the internet. For such a safety conscious person it seemed counter-intuitive but he thinks maybe she was trying to show off, show the world that she was living a good life and Eddie had smiled in every picture she took of him, smiled for the strangers that didn’t know anything about him, or care about his happiness at all. He’d dutifully liked her posts and backed her up when she got into arguments that Eddie didn’t care about because he thought that’s what a good husband should do. He wonders what she’ll say about the divorce, what those strangers who said they were a cute couple will say about it. 

Eddie wonders if finding information on Stan was easy or hard.

“Fucking stalker,” Richie says fondly.

“It was the only way I could keep up with all of you,” Mike says. 

“This time will be different,” Bill says, slinging an arm over Mike’s shoulder as best as he can with their height difference. “You won’t have to stalk us to keep up. We won’t lose touch again.” 

“We should make plans to get together again,” Ben says. “Maybe for Christmas? Or New Years?” 

“Either would work for me. Both, actually. I’m suddenly extremely free, socially,” Eddie says, shoving the last of his burger in his mouth. His first holiday season without the nightmare factory of passive aggressiveness that is Myra’s family, he can’t wait. It could be his first holiday season with people he actually loves and enjoys spending time with. 

“We should do it,” Beverly smiles around at them. It will be her first post-divorce holiday season too, if they can get the paperwork done before then. “Rent a cabin somewhere.” 

“I’m in,” Richie says and Eddie can’t suppress his smile, his mind wandering to matching robes and cuddling in front of a fireplace before he can stop himself. “I hate Southern California during the holidays. Palm trees with Christmas lights feels like a sham.” 

“I’ll have to check with Audra,” Bill frowns. “We usually spend the holidays with her family.”

“You could always bring her,” Ben says.

Eddie wonders if it would be weird to send Stan’s wife a Hanukkah card. He can’t mention anything about what happened and she doesn’t need a stranger writing to her to ramble about talking to her dead husband but maybe it would be nice to hear that Stan was loved. From what Stan said she has friends and family to support her but he still feels guilty. 

“I have a place in Montana,” Ben says, sounding for some inexplicable reason like he’s embarrassed about it. “On Georgetown Lake. I go for Christmas sometimes. It gets snowy and I’ve never hosted anyone there but it’s big enough. It’s near this small town named Anaconda, about two hours from the Missoula airport.” 

“There’s a place in Montana named _Anaconda?_ ” Richie asks, sounding like all of them knew this incredibly important piece of information and have been holding out on him. 

“There’s a town in Oregon named Boring,” Mike offers and Richie looks more betrayed. 

“I don’t know what happened there but you gotta do it for the podcast,” Richie says. “It sounds right up your alley.”

“I vote for Montana,” Beverly says. “I’ve never been.”

“You just want to see Ben’s Anaconda.” 

“Beep-beep, Richie,” Ben says, his cheeks turning pink. 

“How many houses do you have Ben?” Eddie asks. 

“A few,” Ben says noncommittally. “I don’t usually hold onto them long but sometimes I get attached. My main house is in Hemingford Home Nebraska, and I have one in the Catskills.” 

“You have a house in New York?” Eddie asks. It’s upstate so there’s not really any chance they’d run into each other, it’s a big place after all but still, Eddie can’t believe he lived in the same state as Ben, at least sometimes. They’ve all been to New York City except Mike. When he thinks of Richie being in the same city as him doing his standup Eddie feels weird. Ben nods. 

“I’ve seen that one in a magazine,” Mike smiles. “It’s very...contemporary?” 

“Yes,” Ben grins at him. “People always confuse modern and contemporary.” 

“Please don’t tell us the difference,” Richie says. 

“I want to know,” Bill says and Richie immediately lets his head loll back as he starts fake snoring. Eddie picks up a potato chip from his plate and carefully tosses it into Richie’s open mouth. Richie springs back to life, coughing and glaring around the table. He meets Eddie’s eyes and seems to know instantly that it was him. 

“That was attempted murder, Edward. You better be careful, I know where you sleep.” 

Eddie chuckles as Ben launches into the difference between modern and contemporary architecture. 

Eddie is exhausted and full by the time they get back to the apartment, Richie carrying all the leftovers Mike hadn’t wanted to take. It’s not a long walk, Eddie had refused to let Richie drive him there because it felt ridiculous, but it’s a struggle to get back and Richie hadn’t wanted to rest long near the statue of Paul Bunyan. He really needs to regain his strength.

“I need a nap,” he says, shuffling in through the door. 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees behind him, making for the kitchen with the bags. 

Eddie chews it over. Richie folded the pull out back into the couch this morning. 

“Hey,” he clears his throat. “If you don’t feel like sleeping on the couch, you could come share the bed with me.” Richie doesn’t say anything, the hum of the fridge and the rustling of plastic bags the only sound and Eddie thinks maybe he didn’t hear. 

“It’s fine, I can sleep on the couch. My back only hates me a little for the monkey bars.” 

“Richie,” Eddie sighs, shuffling his way to the kitchen. He leans against the kitchen island. “Do you want to sleep with me?” 

He hits his head on the inside of the fridge when he stands up too fast. “Fuck!” 

Eddie flinches, his heart leaping into his throat. “Shit,” Eddie mutters, instantly regretting bringing it up. “You ok?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Richie says, closing the door and turning to look at Eddie. His eyes are so big and sad Eddie wonders if he can take it back. 

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly. “It was just an offer. That bed is fucking huge, dude. And I…” he swallows, staring at Richie’s chest to avoid his eyes. It doesn’t help. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” Richie doesn’t say anything for too long. Eddie gathers as much dignity as he can and walks away, closing the bedroom door behind him. 

He settles on his side, his back to the door. He fucked up. He misunderstood Richie, which shouldn’t be a shock, he was terrible at reading him when they were growing up. It had been part of the appeal at first, how he would justify his focus on Richie; he was just trying to figure out what the hell was going on in that brain of his. 

It doesn’t take long for the door to creak open slowly. He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe steadily, listening to Richie’s footsteps cross the room. He feels it when Richie sits on the other side of the bed, cracks his eyes open when he doesn’t move. “You don’t have to,” Eddie says, eyes on Richie’s back. His shoulders are so broad. 

“I want to,” Richie says, his voice quiet. “I just…” He twists around to look at Eddie. “A couple weeks ago you were sharing a bed with…” He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at a funny angle but Eddie can’t laugh at it. “If we do this is it gonna fuck up your divorce?” 

Eddie blinks at him, his brain too tired and overwhelmed to understand. 

“She called me a homewrecker,” Richie huffs a humorless laugh. “Will this count as infidelity? To a judge or whoever?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie admits. “Nothing happened before I told her I wanted a divorce.” He doesn’t know if that matters or not, in the eyes of the law. “Also...I already...She doesn’t know about it but I do deserve…” He has to close his eyes. It doesn’t stop tears from slipping out. He’s a fucking idiot, he can’t lie about that. What if Myra hires her own lawyer and accuses him of being unfaithful to her? She’s going to find out and she’s going to make Eddie’s life even more of a living hell than it already was. But this time he’ll really deserve it. Richie is there then, Eddie can feel the bed shift as he moves closer to Eddie. “I shouldn’t have cheated on her, it’s fucked up. I’m a fucking _cheater_ , Rich.” 

“It’s ok,” Richie murmurs, closing the rest of the distance between them, tucking Eddie’s head under his chin. It feels nice, Richie’s body pressed against him but he doesn’t deserve this, comfort for the night his loneliness had finally made him do something unforgivable. 

“It was wrong,” Eddie says. He can feel Richie’s heartbeat against his face. “I fucked up.” 

“It’s not like it was planned.” 

“That doesn’t fucking matter. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t fucking...premeditated, it was still wrong. Even if...we hadn’t done it for a long time, we did it so rarely. I...I was never in the mood with her but I fucking did it when she asked. Usually I’d say I had a headache or a stomach ache but Jesus Richie, I couldn’t always use an excuse so I just...I didn’t want to but...the next time she asked after I fucking cheated on her I said yes and I almost threw up I felt so fucking bad. I’m a fucking coward and an asshole and I don’t deserve -”

“No,” Richie says gently, his grip on Eddie tight. “Don’t talk like that Eds. It’s not great that you did it but you know that. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Fuck,” Richie’s voice breaks a little, a shudder going through his body. Eddie presses his face into him. He wants to sling his arm over him and pull him closer but it would pull at his stitches. “You gotta forgive yourself, Eds,” Richie says, his voice rough. “One free blowjob in exchange for years of sex you didn’t want. It’s not fucking fair. Fuck Eddie. You deserve better than that, ok?” 

Eddie nods against him, trying to breathe him in, the comforting smell of Richie between shaky sobs he can’t stop. Richie holds him, cradling the back of Eddie’s head, stroking through his hair, murmuring reassuring things to Eddie that make him cry for a different reason. He feels pathetic. Richie pulls back enough to press a soft kiss to his forehead, continues to hold him until exhaustion takes over and he falls asleep. 

The sun is starting to set, golden light filtering in through the blinds in the bedroom. Eddie sits on the bed, his back to the wooden headboard, setting up his new phone while Richie, Bill, and Mike carry chairs into the room, Mike’s laptop sitting on the edge of the bed. He feels drained from this afternoon and he could easily go lounge in the living room but he doesn’t want to retreat, he wants to be around his friends.

“We’d get the best sound in the closet,” Richie tells them. “But I’m not going back in there. Hey, for the record when I suggested we play seven minutes in heaven in high school, I wasn’t joking. I wanted a reason to drag Eddie in there and slobber all over him.” 

“Gross,” Eddie mumbles even as his cheeks heat up.

“This should work fine,” Bill laughs. “Better than the living room.” 

“You sure you don’t want to join, Eddie?” Mike asks, setting up to record. Eddie shakes his head no. 

“Don’t worry, he won’t be able to stop himself if we’re wrong about something,” Richie says. 

The first thing he does on his new phone is turn off location sharing with Myra. He has work emails and old texts and missed calls from Myra but he ignores those. He thinks about blocking her number but he’ll need to communicate with her about getting his birth certificate and social security card and the rest of his clothes, the rest of his work clothes at least. He has some nice suits he really likes and his _shoes,_ God he wants his shoes. He has a couple voicemails from unknown numbers, they're recent, from yesterday. He listens to them while the others go over Mike’s outline of topics he wants to cover.

“Something wrong?” Mike asks when Eddie tosses his phone away from him, watching it bounce on the bed and feeling hollow inside. 

“Uh…” he clears his throat. “Myra tried to cancel my credit cards and she had a…psychologist,” he puts air quotes around the word, “call me to talk about…being gay. Or...not being gay...is what he wanted to talk about.” He never thought of Myra as someone who would do any of this. She was so sweet when they met, so understanding when she saw Eddie having an asthma, no, anxiety attack in a supply closet before an important meeting.

“Jesus,” Richie says, his tone vicious. “Fuck that bitch.”

“Richie,” Eddie says out of habit. He sounds more tired than warning. 

“No,” Richie bites back. “She can’t do this to you.” 

“That’s really fucked up Eddie, I’m sorry,” Bill says and Mike agrees with him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, trying to hold himself together. Most of today he’s felt so damn raw and vulnerable, it’s wearing on him. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. The credit cards, not the other thing. I’ll...I’ll block that number.” 

“Here,” Richie gets Eddie’s phone for him, their hands brushing as he hands it to him. Eddie’s hand is shaking, he hopes Richie didn’t notice. 

“Do you need anything, Eddie?” Mike asks. 

“A drink,” Bill offers. 

“I can’t on my pain medication.” 

“Right,” Bill says. “Sorry.” 

“Just do your thing,” Eddie says, trying to subtly wipe his eyes and failing. The three of them exchange a look but don’t press him. 

“Ok. There’s nothing wrong with being gay. There’s nothing to fix,” Mike says and Eddie’s throat constricts. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You need anything, don’t worry about interrupting, alright? We’re all here for you. We love you, Eddie.” 

“What Mike said,” Bill says. 

“Thanks,” Eddie says, his voice strained. “I love you guys too. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve got a way with words, Mike,” Bill smiles at him. “Maybe you should be the writer.” 

Mike is a natural, leading future listeners through the history of Derry with an appropriate amount of gravitas and Richie doesn’t interrupt too much with jokes until they’re discussing it more broadly, all the mysterious tragic accidents that they refuse to name the cause of for a wider audience: the explosion at the Kitchener Ironworks and the bizarre town-wide gunfight with the Bradley Gang along with the string of missing persons. Eddie had never paid much attention to the stories Mike and Ben told about these things but he finds himself riveted now. Bill and Richie pitch possible tongue-in-cheek explanations ranging from “something in the water” to government experiments disappearing people into the night. They don’t spend much time on the fact that Bill and Richie were childhood friends from the same bizarre small town. The time flies by as Eddie watches them, enjoying every second and forgetting everything but the faces of his three friends.

“What would you recommend to people wanting to travel to Derry?” Mike asks as they’re winding down. 

“Don’t,” Bill and Richie say in unison and they laugh about it. 

“There’s not really anything for tourists to see, is there? Besides the Paul Bunyan statue,” Bill says. 

“Don’t go see the Paul Bunyan statue, he’s homophobic,” Richie says, deadly serious and Mike and Bill chuckle. “What are you guys laughing at? He’s a symbol of toxic masculinity.” 

“And expansionism,” Mike says.

They stick around after, drinking and eating leftovers from the picnic, hyping up Mike’s certain future as a successful podcaster. Eddie doesn’t usually listen to podcasts for fun, he dutifully listens to an investing podcast at the gym, but he’s excited to listen to Mike’s adventures and his take on the places he visits. He can’t help but notice, as things are winding down that Bill looks sad, almost like he’s not ready to leave; he does though, he leaves with Mike after giving Eddie and Richie long hugs. Eddie is sad for them to go too but they’ll be in touch. This time will be different.

Richie doesn’t have to be asked if he wants to sleep with Eddie again. They settle into bed together, the simple intimacy of brushing their teeth together making Eddie feel overwhelmed for some reason. 

Usually Eddie sleeps on his back but he’s scared of ripping out his stitches so he lays on his side again. It feels unnatural but he’s tired enough not to mind. Besides, now he can stare at Richie in the dark. He’s lying on his back, staring at the dark ceiling, Eddie can see his eyelashes move as he blinks. He moves closer, his face pressed against Richie’s shoulder, breathing him in. His old t-shirt feels soft against Eddie’s face. 

“Sorry if I drool,” Eddie tells him.

“Now who’s the gross slobbering one,” Richie teases him.

“Tell me if you want me to move,” Eddie mumbles, his eyelids feeling heavy. He readjusts the arm he’s lying on so he can touch Richie’s hand, lacing his fingers through Richie’s. Richie’s hand is bigger than his, everything about Richie is bigger and he loves it.

“I will Eds,” Richie says, his voice soft. “Hey, you too. If you're uncomfortable...or you don't want me to touch you, you just say so and I’ll stop, ok?”

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, letting himself relax completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever seen World’s Most Extraordinary Homes on Netflix? There’s a house in season one, episode two that was built by an architect who normally builds skyscrapers and it’s WILD. You can find pictures/articles/a shorter tour online, it's called Shokan House. Highly recommend even though the house wasn't my taste. The hosts trying and failing to figure out the “smart” kitchen so they could make tea was golden. Anyway, I actually liked the peek of Ben’s house we got because I was like WELL it could have been worse. Also for the record Beverly seems very chill but that’s because she’s an expert at hiding her feelings, she’s very upset about the Tom and Kay situation and Richie’s insensitive joke about Mike’s interests being boring was him clumsily trying to tell him to get out there and have adventures, he wasn't intentionally being mean


	4. The Kissing Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bridges are crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the public’s mixed reaction to Richie coming out, implications that Richie’s old material was offensive/problematic, discussion of the hate crime against Adrian and Don and hate crimes in general, a cultural reference to something that happened in 2017 but was too funny for me to take out, inaccurate portrayal of marijuana use, social media used for cheesy fluff, implied homophobic insults but no actual insults, and a cameo by Eddie’s sex toys.

_I don’t know how but I’m taller_

_It must be something in the water_

_Everything’s growing in our garden_

_You don’t have to know that it’s haunted_

_The doctor put her hands over my liver_

_She told me my resentments getting smaller_

Garden Song - Phoebe Bridgers

  
  


Richie is still sleeping when Eddie wakes, the lines of his face smooth, making him look younger. Eddie could watch him sleep for hours, memorizing this softer, relaxed Richie, but he has to get up. Richie doesn’t stir as Eddie carefully untangles himself, his shoulder throbbing with pain as he heads to the bathroom. 

Not even Eddie’s clumsy fumbling in the kitchen wakes him as Eddie attempts, mostly successfully, to make pancakes for the first time. The box of pancake mix Mike brought them has very simple instructions but it’s harder than Eddie assumed. He tries to flip the first two too soon, staring at the mess of batter on the spatula and thinking about making toast instead but he figures it out. He makes a side of breakfast sausage but there’s no meat thermometer in the kitchen drawers. That can’t be legal, surely people need to check this kind of thing. What’s the point of putting an internal temperature on the package if it’s not important to check? How is he supposed to just wing that kind of clearly important thing? He hopes Richie likes them a little burnt.

Eddie eats breakfast on the balcony, the plate on his lap. The morning air is a little cold but he’s not going to pass up the fresh air while he has access to it and he likes the soothing sounds of Derry’s morning traffic. He doesn’t live on a particularly busy street but he’s used to it, the noise of other people living their lives, it’s comforting in a way. Everything still tastes amazing to him but maybe it’s because he hasn’t had pancakes in years, not since he convinced himself that gluten was going to make him sick after reading about it online. He knows he was being paranoid, the allergy test had come back negative and one of his coworkers actually has Celiac disease and Eddie never got sick like her, in fact after a couple of beers with his almost-friends from work he’s eaten pizza with no consequences.

When Eddie lets himself back into the bedroom to get a change of clothes Richie is still out, breathing deeply while Eddie grabs what he needs. It takes him a few minutes to figure it out but if he braces his left elbow on the kitchen counter he can button the shirt he took from Richie’s duffel bag by himself without putting too much strain on his shoulder. It makes him feel good to know he can fully dress himself; just like the shower a part of him is unimpressed at the rush of pride he feels about taking care of himself, that the bar for success has fallen that low but quieting that voice is easier than normal. He lets the momentum of his morning successes carry over into some phone calls, first to his bank - what was Myra thinking? He’s the primary card holder on their account, of course they would call him without just cutting him off. The representative he talks to is kind and understanding as he awkwardly explains the situation. 

Then he calls the divorce lawyer Beverly texted him the number for, on the recommendation from one of her colleagues from New York City. The lawyer is nicer than he was expecting but it might have to do with mentioning the person who recommended her which makes Eddie feel guilty because he doesn’t actually know the person. She seems genuinely supportive when Eddie tells her he’s gay, she even tells him it’s not an unusual circumstance for a divorce. She lays out his options for him. The smoothest course of action would be getting Myra to agree to the divorce and division of assets for an uncontested divorce. Eddie doesn’t know if that’s realistic but he commits to trying to get Myra to come in for mediation, it beats the alternative of a messy legal battle. Right now it feels like it would take a miracle for Myra to come around but Eddie is willing to cling to the shred of hope that maybe she’ll cool off soon and be reasonable once she sees Eddie is serious. 

They do some preliminary talk about assets and what Eddie would like to keep, which is nothing - Myra can keep their house if she wants it, Eddie doesn’t care about anything there beyond the rest of his clothes, and even those he’s not very attached to, except his shoes, he would like his shoes but there’s no reason for Myra to fight him on that, it’s not like she’ll be using them or his suits. He can’t even think of anything sentimental he wants to fight for. When he was a kid he had a shoebox of little treasures, movie ticket stubs, cheap carnival prizes, little trinkets he can’t fully picture in his mind but he knows were associated with his friends; his mother had found it and emptied it out. She called it garbage and when Eddie had started over she had done it again. And again. He tried to stop hanging onto things but sometimes he slips up. Myra found the baseball game ticket he kept in his wallet and threw it away and Eddie hadn’t defended himself when she told him it was a weird thing to keep in his wallet. Myra hated it when he went to baseball games, she was always scared he’d get hit by a ball. He doesn’t even remember why he felt like keeping it. 

Both phone calls go smoother than he’d anticipated but they still leave him exhausted. He considers rejoining Richie in bed but he decides not to, he should let him sleep however long he needs to. In college one of his classmates told him about sleep deficits and if anyone is running on a sleep deficit it’s Richie right now.

 _‘Called the lawyer, she’s nice. Thanks.’_ He texts to Beverly, letting himself sink into the couch. Within minutes he has a reply in the form of a photo of Beverly and Ben giving him a thumbs up, the two leaning close together and smiling, sitting in what appears to be airplane seats. ‘ _We’re about to take off. Talk to you when we get to Chicago.’_ This is it, the test. He’s responding when he gets another message in the Losers’ group chat, another picture of Beverly and Ben smiling, looking so carefree it makes Eddie ache with envy for a second. 

Beverly: _So long losers!_

Ben: _We’ll check in when we land._

Bill: _Same. My plane got delayed._

Mike: _Enjoy your flights!_

Eddie: _Richie would probably say something stupid about the mile high club._

Mike: _Where is Richie? Everything okay?_

Eddie: _He’s still sleeping._

Bill: _He needs the beauty sleep. Mike, have you ever flown before?_

Mike: _Not yet. It’s on my post-Derry bucket list._

Bill: _I’ll fly you out whenever you want to visit. There’s some ghost towns in California I’d love to show you._

Mike: _Thanks Bill. I’m giving my two weeks notice today. I’ll hit the road after, probably check out the East coast first._

Eddie: _Congrats!_

Bill: _That’s great! Did Jake get back to you?_

Mike: _Yeah, thanks Bill. I really appreciate it._

Eddie: _Who’s Jake?_

Mike: _An editor of a travel magazine Bill knows. He said he liked my writing samples so he’ll give me some space for a travel column._

Eddie: _Wow, that’s big Mike! I can’t wait to read it. And listen to the podcast._

Mike: _Thanks Eddie. You and Richie have plans tonight?_

Eddie feels a sudden rush of warmth. He and Richie. A pair. 

Eddie: _No. There’s way too much food in the fridge, you want to come over for dinner?_

Mike: _Sounds good, thanks!_

Bill: _How long are you staying in Derry, Eddie?_

Eddie: _A week. I want to see the same doctor for my checkup._

Bill: _Makes sense. What about after?_

Eddie stares at his phone. A week isn’t that long, he’ll have to figure it out soon. He feels a pit of anxiety in his stomach. 

Eddie: _Don’t know yet. Maybe get the rest of my stuff in New York. I don’t know where I’m going to put it though. I don’t have a place to live yet._

Mike: _That’s okay Eddie! You’ve got time to figure it out. You can always get a storage unit and join me on the road trip. Open invitation. To you and Richie._

There’s an idea, him and Mike and Richie exploring whatever strange town or city Mike wants to see. It sounds extremely appealing but part of him knows that it’s partly a delaying tactic. He can’t be on the road forever, eventually he’ll have to figure out where he’s going to live and what he’s going to do with his career. 

Eddie: _Thanks Mike. I’ll definitely think about it._

The conversation peters off after that, leaving Eddie to his thoughts. It’s not pleasant, the worry that Richie doesn’t want the same thing, that he’ll think Eddie is moving too fast, that Myra will make the divorce as difficult as possible. He takes some deep breaths. Richie said he would go anywhere with him. He wraps that thought around him like a protective bubble, warding off all his worries. One thing at a time. His phone is in his hand still and he wants a distraction so he Googles “Richie Tozier Twitter” because he’s been curious since Richie told him he came out via a tweet. He’s never used Twitter before but he navigates it as well as he can, his heart in his throat as he reads: 

**Nothing like staring at the love of your life in a coma and wishing you had the guts to tell him how you felt before it was too late**

⎸

**Yes I’m 40 and gay and I’ve never told anyone because I’m a fucking coward**

⎸

**No I don’t have a girlfriend. Everyone keeps asking. She was fake. All my material is fake I hired ghost writers to make me sound straight but look how that turned out fucking 40 and I’m going to die alone**

He rereads the first tweet. Richie called him the love of his life. He wants to wake Richie and kiss him raw. The love of his life, that’s how Richie thinks of him, holy shit. He feels warm all over, his body suddenly restless but he doesn’t know what to do with the energy buzzing through him. A few slow circuits around the living room partially settles whatever awoke under his skin, whatever is making him feel hot and shaky, his heart beating fast. Love of his life.

Eddie sits back down and looks at some of the responses. There’s positive comments, sympathetic comments about the coma part. There’s also hateful comments that make Eddie’s hands shake, people condemning Richie, calling him terrible things, demanding refunds for shows and merchandise. One comment stands out to him: 

**ew gross the straights can keep him**

Eddie should stop but he keeps scrolling, skimming through until he finds a genuine nice comment from someone who didn’t come out until his fifties. There’s also some well-wishes, people telling Richie he hopes he gets his chance or to ‘shoot your shot,’ whatever that means. 

And then because he can’t stop himself he Googles “Richie Tozier gay” and reads some of the media coverage. It’s mostly neutral or mildly positive. There’s surprise that someone with so much material about dating and sex with women was secretly gay but also congratulatory pieces for coming out. Some articles seem more interested in the admittance that he used ghost writers. A tabloid runs quotes from someone claiming to have hooked up with Richie at a gay bar a few years ago, claiming he’d been telling people for years that Richie Tozier was gay and gave terrible blow jobs. There’s also a scathing piece on whether the LGBTQ community should welcome someone who made a career out of misogynist, and sometimes transphobic and homophobic, jokes whether he wrote them or not. 

Richie hasn’t said anything about the response to him coming out besides jokes about his manager and PR team wanting to kill him. Richie spends a lot of time on his phone, frowning deeply, and Eddie wonders if he’s messaging those people, wonders if anyone on Richie’s team is being supportive of him. 

The bedroom door opens and Eddie drops his phone like it burned him, turning to look at Richie. Richie looks back at him, hair messy and face pale, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “Rich? You ok?” 

Richie blinks at him like he’s not seeing Eddie. “I...I talked to Stan.” It takes a moment of shocked silence for Richie to move, to stumble his way to the couch and sit next to Eddie, leaning forward with his head in his hands.

“That’s good. Right?” Eddie says around the tightness in his throat. Richie nods but a quiet choked noise escapes him and Eddie’s heart feels like it’s breaking. “Come here,” he says, gently tugging on Richie’s t-shirt until Richie sits up and lets Eddie pull him closer, carefully removing his glasses, Richie’s eyes screwed shut. He pulls Richie into him, his face tucked into the side of Eddie’s neck. It takes a moment for Richie to wrap an arm around Eddie and lean into him harder. “It’s ok, Rich,” Eddie says, rubbing his hand over Richie’s back. He can feel the barely contained tremble in his muscles. “You can let go, I’ve got you.” And he does, clinging to Eddie while he heaves sobs, muffling them in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie holds him until he’s calmed down, wishing there was something he could say or do to make this better but there isn’t so he holds him and hopes Richie can feel how much he loves him.

“I miss him,” Richie finally manages, his voice hoarse. “It was...Fuck, it was _Stan_.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, running his hand through Richie’s messy hair. Richie pulls back, a dazed look in his red rimmed eyes. Even watery and red, Eddie finds his eyes beautiful. 

“Sorry I got snot all over your shirt.” Richie sniffles, giving Eddie a half-hearted smile. His lip quivers a second before he pulls it back under control. 

“It’s your shirt,” Eddie reminds him, like Eddie would own a lime green shirt with pink triangles on it. “You can blow your nose on it if you want, I won’t stop you.” 

Richie snorts a small laugh, pulling away from Eddie. He lets Richie go but he wants to pull him back in, press Richie against him until it stops hurting. He watches Richie grab a few tissues from the box on the coffee table and his glasses as he heads to the bathroom, mumbling that he’ll be right back. Eddie takes a few deep breaths and gets up. His neck is wet so he cleans himself up with a tissue. He’s never seen Richie cry like that, not that hard, not even when they were little. He doesn’t know what to do and he hears the shower start so he settles back onto the couch, thinking of texting Mike but he doesn’t know what to say because this is Richie’s business if he wants to talk about it to anyone. He wonders what he and Stan talked about. He gets back up to make a pot of coffee for Richie, wiping down the counter for a second time so he has something to do. 

“Hey,” Richie says and Eddie almost falls over in his eagerness to spin around; he must have been so in his own head he didn’t hear the door open. Richie looks better, freshly showered and changed into jeans and the grey hoodie he was wearing when Eddie woke up - thankfully washed since then thanks to Mike. “Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be,” Eddie says quickly. “I know the feeling...How is he?” 

“Good,” Richie says, that dazed look passing over him again. “No wings though, I told him he should have wings unless there are no Jewish angels. He should file a complaint, that’s gotta be discrimination right? It was...Fuck...Eddie.” He looks at Eddie, a rawness in his expression that has Eddie taking a step closer, Richie meeting him halfway to embrace him. 

“It’s overwhelming,” Eddie says, rubbing his back. 

“Yeah,” Richie gives a shaky laugh, Eddie can feel it vibrate through him. “Fuck. He should be able to bill my insurance for a therapy session. He should...He should fucking _be here_. That asshole. They say you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but the dead don’t usually say ‘fuck you Trashmouth, shut up and listen for once,’ Jesus.” 

“Sounds like you had a productive talk,” Eddie says into Richie’s shoulder. He’s still using Eddie’s body wash, they’re going to run out soon if they both keep using it but Eddie loves smelling it on him. 

“You could say that,” Richie says, turning his face into Eddie’s hair. They hold each other, Richie’s arms wrapped around him, stronger and bigger than Eddie’s and Eddie is struck again with that feeling of _rightness_ he gets when Richie touches him. Eddie has his right arm around him, hand pressed to the expanse of Richie’s warm back, his left hand on the small of Richie’s back because that’s as high as he can lift it right now. Now doesn’t feel like the time to enjoy the dip in Richie’s back right above his ass but Eddie can’t help it, it’s right there under his hand. Richie pulls back slightly and Eddie takes his head away from his shoulder reluctantly. It feels so good to be touched by him. Eddie is the one that keeps initiating touches and if Richie pulls away right now he doesn’t know how he’ll deal with it. He wants Richie’s touch so badly it aches. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, his minty breath ghosting across Eddie’s cheek. 

Eddie nods awkwardly, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat, already leaning in to catch Richie’s lips against his. Richie’s lips are soft and warm and his stubble scratches Eddie’s smooth face but it’s perfect, Eddie wouldn’t change anything about it. It’s different than when he’d kissed Richie out of the deadlights - that had been quick and rough, more Eddie desperately mashing their lips together, adrenaline coursing through him. This is soft and gentle, neither of them making a move to open their mouths but Eddie can feel desire pooling in his gut, Richie’s body pressing against him. Eddie isn’t an experienced kisser by any means but he hopes he’s doing alright. He could do this all day, it could be a learning opportunity, standing here and exchanging unhurried kisses with Richie in the kitchen. 

Richie pulls away, cups Eddie’s face gently, the warmth and size of his hands sending a thrill through Eddie; he wants those hands everywhere on him, all the time. “I really fucking love you,” Richie says, his eyes focused on Eddie’s, warm and open and honest. 

“I love you too, Rich,” Eddie says and shit he can feel his eyes starting to water. His heart is beating so fast, but it’s not unpleasant, not like a panic attack.

“Are we doing this?” Richie asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I want to be with you, Rich. So bad.” 

“Me too, Eds. Fuck.” He closes his eyes and Eddie can see his throat working to swallow. Richie leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Eddie closes his eyes too and breathes him in. “I already lost you twice. I don’t want to lose you again. I want to...Let’s just spend the rest of our lives together, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs suddenly, the tears finally spilling over. He doesn’t remember ever crying because he was happy before. “That’d be perfect.” 

“Great,” Richie sighs, pulling back again, thumbing the tears off Eddie’s cheek. “You ok?” 

"I’m fine,” Eddie says. “But I’d be better if you kissed me again.”

Richie leans in to kiss him again, Eddie can feel his smile against his lips and he can’t help smiling back. Smiling while kissing isn’t something he knew he was capable of but Richie is good at showing Eddie things he didn’t know he was capable of. 

“Can I bring you somewhere?” Richie asks when he pulls back, his expression so tender Eddie’s breath catches in his throat again. 

“Of course Rich, anywhere,” Eddie responds eagerly, feeling a little lightheaded.

“Really?” Richie laughs, his face brightening. Eddie drinks in his expression. “You better be careful or I’ll bring you to some sketchy places. There’s somewhere in Derry I want to show you. After...brunch,” Richie’s eyes dart to the time on the microwave. “My boyfriend made me brunch, how about that? Or did you eat it all?” 

“It was breakfast.” Eddie tries to sound stern but he fails completely, the corners of his lips keep tugging up. “But someone slept in until it was cold. Pancakes and sausage in the fridge.” 

“That’s no fair Eds, I was busy,” Richie says, breaking away to pour himself a cup of coffee. He looks better than he has the whole time they’ve been in Derry, lighter, more relaxed. Eddie makes his way to the dining table and watches Richie add sugar and creamer to his coffee, get breakfast out of the fridge and put it in the microwave. Every move Richie makes is fascinating and endearing, he can actually be kind of graceful for someone so tall and broad or maybe Eddie is just in love and thinks everything about him is beautiful. 

“Are we going with boyfriend or partner? Aren’t we kind of old to be boyfriends?” 

“I don’t know Eds, looking at you makes me feel like a wild teen again. Want to dry hump in my car after curfew?” Richie throws him a grin over his shoulder and Eddie’s stomach does an embarrassing flip.

“There’s not enough room,” Eddie says. “And it’s a rental.” 

“So?” Richie asks. 

“So you can’t get stains in it.” 

“Sure you can, there’s no ‘you come in it, you buy it’ policy.” 

Eddie shudders, great now he’s going to have to wipe down the seats of every rental car he gets in for the rest of his life. The rest of his life with Richie. “There should be, that’s disgusting.” 

“Jesus,” Richie says, sitting next to Eddie with his plate and coffee, his pancakes drenched in syrup. “If there was I’d have a stupid amount of cars.” He cuts into his pancakes with the side of his fork and instead of Eddie finding it annoying that he didn’t grab a knife he finds it cute.

“Really?” Eddie asks, staring at Richie’s jaw as he chews. He stops, eyes darting to Eddie, his jaw clenching before he swallows and Eddie feels a little worried. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. The gossip blog comes back to him. Maybe he doesn’t want to know.

“I didn’t count,” Richie says, avoiding eye contact. “It used to be a tour thing...Before I got too recognizable. Grindr in my rental car. I’m sorry, Eds.” Eddie knows what that is, he heard one of the secretaries at work explaining it to his friend.

“For what? You don’t have to apologize for getting laid, seriously Rich.”

“It sucked,” Richie says. “I always thought I’d feel less lonely after but it never worked, it’s fucking pathetic.” 

“That’s not pathetic.” Eddie scoots his chair closer, rubbing Richie’s back. He feels tense. “You’re talking to me, Rich. The gay guy who married a woman because he was desperate and lonely and trying to follow some stupid made up life plan.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Richie gives him a small smile. “It doesn’t turn you off? Or make you jealous?” 

“It doesn’t turn me off,” Eddie assures him. It’s embarrassing to admit but Richie asked directly so Eddie can put aside his pride and answer him honestly. “It makes me jealous if I think about it too much. People touching you like that. People who didn’t appreciate you or love you like you deserve. I was fucking losing it when you said you were married. It was so hypocritical of me but it made me so fucking upset, you sounded so sincere about it. It...It makes me sad too,” he admits. “Thinking about you being lonely. You deserved someone to love you.” 

Richie doesn’t say anything, frowning at his pancakes. “But then,” he says eventually, “if I had someone, that would be awkward because I’d have to leave them for you. Then you’d be a homewrecker too.”

“You’re not a homewrecker. The home was already wrecked before you got there, I was just too cowardly to do something about it.” 

“I’m still going to use it in my standup, if that’s ok,” he adds glancing at Eddie for approval. “It’s pretty funny, the way she yelled it at me. Well not for me in the moment but now it is. People will probably think it’s funny, _this fucker_ ,” he gestures to himself, “a _homewrecker_.” 

“You can use anything from my life,” Eddie promises. “Or our relationship.” He wants that, to help Richie in that way, help restart his career. He cancelled his tour for Eddie, it’s the least Eddie could do for him. “Even the fucking gym and the stripclub thing.” 

“Thanks Eds,” Richie smiles but there’s still a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I might use it, I don’t know. I told my manager I’d start working on my own material but I’ve been too.” He waves his fork around. 

“You’re allowed to take time off to figure your shit out.” Eddie rubs his shoulder, trying to work out some of the tension. “And then you’ll have an epic comeback.” 

“No one says ‘epic’ anymore,” Richie says, leaning into Eddie’s touch. “You’re so out of touch, bro. _Dude_. I can’t believe you fucking called me ‘bro.’ It almost killed my boner for you.”

“People still say bro and dude. And epic,” Eddie insists. “Guys in my office say it.”

“It’s probably ironic. You’re the only fucking person in New York City who says it non-ironically, I guarantee it.” 

“Fuck off, it’s not ironic. Who says things _ironically,_ you fucking hipster?” He pinches the back of Richie’s neck and Richie jerks away, a surprised laugh on his lips. “Did you really have a boner?” 

“No,” Richie says, his eyes sliding to Eddie’s lips for a second. “Maybe a little. You’re the one who said ‘let's take our shirts off and kiss’ so what’s up with that, _bro_?” 

“It was a reference! I was just trying to distract you.” He licks his lips at the memory. Richie’s hand in his. He doesn’t remember whose idea it was to arm wrestle but Eddie would take any excuse to touch him. “And I wanted us to take our fucking shirts off and kiss.”

“I knew it,” Richie chuckles. 

“Did you?” Eddies asks, hoping for a sincere answer. “Really?” 

“Did I know you wanted to climb me like a tree with your lithe little body?” Richie grins. “No,” he admits, his tone changing, his hand finding Eddie’s and holding it, staring at their hands with his eyebrows raised like he’s skeptical, like he can’t quite believe they’re touching. “When I remembered you...Looking back at it all on the way here I thought maybe you were gay too, even if you hadn’t been into me. And then you said you were married to a woman. And _then_ you kissed me when I was stuck in the deadlights and... _fuck_.” He takes a few deep breaths. Eddie squeezes his hand.

“I didn’t know,” Eddie offers his own truth. “I had no idea you were into me. I just thought you liked fucking with me, not like that, shut up, obviously not like that. I thought...I thought there was just something fucking wrong with me for. I don’t know. I just wanted you to look at me and touch me all the time. I wanted your attention. A part of me knew why but I tried so fucking hard to ignore it. I thought if I pushed it down and ignored it it would go away.”

“I’m really fucking glad you stopped ignoring it,” Richie says, bringing their hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to Eddie’s hand. 

Richie is paranoid about leaving the apartment and Eddie knows he’s looking around for Myra to ambush them even though Eddie told him that he checked their credit card history and her rental car has been returned and she bought a plane ticket yesterday. He keeps checking the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the wheel too tight until Eddie reaches over and squeezes his leg, his hand working hard. 

“Is that too tight?” he asks.

“No,” Richie says, taking Eddie’s hand in his, his eyes on the road ahead. Eddie might object to him driving one handed but they’re not going fast and Eddie is hardly a paragon of safe driving habits. Even in New York City he’s considered an aggressive driver and if he gets one more ticket he’ll have to go to traffic school. He feels ashamed now, he shouldn’t have taken his anger out on so many innocent people - people who were probably just trying to get home to their loved ones, meet their partners for dates, pick up their kids; people living way better lives than Eddie’s. 

“It’s hard to tell. It feels weak,” he admits. “And kind of numb.” Richie squeezes his hand, Eddie squeezes back. 

“I’m sorry, Eds,” Richie sighs. “If I wasn’t so fucking slow...It shouldn’t have gotten you.”

“We’ve talked about this, Rich.” He squeezes his hand again but Richie doesn’t squeeze back. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Ok,” Richie says, not sounding at all like he took that to heart. He wonders if he talked about the guilt with Stan. He drops Eddie’s hand then so he can make a left turn. 

“Where are we going?” Eddie stares out the window at the thinning buildings. “The barrens? I don’t think I can make it down the hill and back up and you’re not fucking carrying me.” 

“I could carry you,” Richie says. “If I had to. I’ve carried you before.” Eddie opens his mouth to ask _when_ but he snaps it shut, his teeth clicking together. He knows when. “It’s just up here,” Richie says, his tone strange but Eddie can’t decipher it.

Eddie doesn’t say anything as Richie rolls to a stop at the side of the road. The kissing bridge. His heartbeat picks up. Does Richie want to kiss here? Carve their names in it like so many of their classmates in high school? He unbuckled himself with his clumsy hand and heaves himself out of the car. He’s already regaining some of his strength. The walk to and from the park already did something for him.

Richie waits for him on the side of the road, his hands in his pockets. 

“You want to makeout on the kissing bridge?” Eddie asks and he’s surprised when Richie blushes. 

“No. The fuck?” He turns, walking slowly so Eddie can follow him. Eddie frowns at his back, unable to make sense of that reaction, unable to see it as anything other than rejection. 

It’s another mild September day. Eddie watches the wind shake through the trees of the barrens. This is his favorite place in Derry, in any season. It makes him painfully nostalgic, thinking about running around the barrens with the Losers, finding refuge in the clubhouse. Even the rock fight has taken on a sheen of happiness in his memory - it had been serious at the time, all of their rage at Henry Bowers and his lackeys spilling over, the real threat of violence they all faced, their passion to protect Mike, but it had been a true bonding experience, the moment they’d become complete.

“Here.” Richie stops suddenly and Eddie stops with him. He’s not sure what the significance of this place is. Eddie stares at him, waiting for an explanation. “Oh my God,” Richie huffs, “there, right there.” He points at the fence and Eddie looks at it. There are a lot of carvings on it, most of them old like the teens of Derry have outgrown the tradition but his eyes are instantly drawn to the neat R + E. 

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. It’s old and faded and Eddie runs his fingers over it, not caring if he gets a splinter. That would be nice, in a way, a sliver of Richie’s love living under his skin. He can’t take his eyes off of it. He doesn’t know why, Richie told him he loved him and it meant everything but this is different, this is tangible proof that Richie loves him. Love of his life. “When did you carve it?” 

“When I found out you were moving.” Richie laughs humorlessly. “I didn’t have the guts to tell you how I felt before you left so,” he gestures to the carving. “I don’t think I ever would have had the guts, Eds. I can’t picture it. There’s no fucking way I would have been brave enough to tell you. I was prepared to love you quietly for the rest of my life and then you kissed me and -”

“Rich,” Eddie whispers, a shiver running through him. This spot feels different now, this little piece of old wooden fence. It feels sacred and Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching it but he pulls his hand away so he can reach for Richie. To his surprise Richie takes a step back, turning briefly to check behind them. “Come on,” Eddie says. “Kiss me, asshole.” 

“Are you fucking crazy?” Richie whispers back even though there’s no one around. Eddie’s stomach plummets to his feet. “You know where we are. You grew up here too. It’s not fucking safe.” 

“It’s not the fucking eighties anymore,” Eddie says, his voice rising. “Things are different.” 

“Not here they aren’t,” Richie whispers back, his brows furrowed as he stares at Eddie. He doesn’t look angry, he looks scared and it softens Eddie’s hurt. “Didn’t you hear about...There was a fucking hate crime a couple weeks ago, it’s what made Mike call us, It - Fuck.” His hands are shaking, Eddie watches Richie ball them into fists and stuff them back into his pockets. “You didn’t hear?” 

“No,” Eddie says, quiet again, full of dread. Richie sighs. He looks like he’s trying to fold into himself. 

“A group of fucking homophobic assholes beat the shit out of this gay couple because they had the audacity to kiss at the carnival. They almost killed one of them. Adrian, his name was Adrian. They beat him and they dumped him in the canal to die and his partner...he told the police he saw...The fucking clown got him, Eddie. Ate his heart right in front of...When we split up,” Richie’s eyes are watering but he holds himself together, “I saw him, I saw Adrian. He handed me...It used him to taunt me.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out, holding onto the fence to steady himself, his throat feeling tight and his stomach sick. He wants to sit, his legs feel like jelly.

“Mike said _It_ influenced them but that’s fucking bullshit.” Eddie has never heard Richie this angry before, his voice low and laced with fury. “Shit like this happens without the help of the fucking clown, in other towns, big cities with pride parades. He said It stoked their fear but fear doesn’t make people fucking hate like that, it’s different, it’s fucking...If they were _afraid_ they should have just left them the fuck alone, you don’t fucking do shit like that if you’re _afraid_ , they weren’t fucking afraid of that couple they were...It’s called a fucking hate crime not a fear crime. I -” he looks at Eddie, his eyes wild. “I fucking hate this town, we should burn it to the fucking ground and salt the Earth, nothing should have to live here. Fuck Eddie,” his anger deflates, the lines of his face looking deeper. “I want you out of here.” 

Eddie doesn’t know what to say. This was such a large part of why he denied he was gay for so long, because of horrifc bullshit like this. “Please,” he says, his voice shaky. “Let me touch you.” Richie gives in, coming to Eddie and letting him wrap his arm around him, pulling him close into a hug. It’s not close enough, Eddie wishes it was possible to be closer but having Richie against him makes him feel better, safer.

Richie wraps his arms around him in return, pulling Eddie close, burying his face in Eddie’s hair. “I just want to take you on a date and hold your hand and kiss you without worrying we’re going to get fucking murdered. Is that too much to ask? No one should be fucking scared of that.” 

“I don’t want to live my life afraid anymore,” Eddie says into Richie’s shoulder. “I refuse to not show the world how much I fucking love you.” 

Richie huffs a laugh before pulling back to stare at Eddie, his eyes big and watery. “You brave son of a bitch,” he says but Eddie doesn’t feel brave he just feels fed up, angry at the world for letting this happen. Richie initiates the kiss. Eddie enjoys the soft press of his lips but he presses back harder, feeling rebellious. When Richie pulls back he doesn’t chase after him like he wants to. Maybe that was too much.

“Fuck this town,” Eddie says. “We should burn everything but the barrens and this,” he points at their initials. 

“That’s the spirit Eds,” Richie grins at him. “I’ll get the gasoline, you can strike the match.” 

“I wish we could take it with us, Derry doesn’t deserve it.” He runs his hand over it one more time. 

“The fence is old, a nudge from the car would knock it loose. You’ve got two big bags, we could fit a fence in there.”

“I’d make you pick all the splinters out of my clothes by hand.” Eddie turns away from the fence, walking back toward the car with Richie. “Thanks for showing me, it means a lot.” 

“Yeah, well...thank Stan. He encouraged me to show you. He knew. He noticed the way I looked at it whenever we passed it after you moved but he never said anything. He fucking put it together though because he was Stan the Man.” 

“Thanks Stan,” Eddie says and he thinks maybe the sudden burst of birdsong from the barrens is a response. He feels overwhelmed as Richie takes them back to downtown Derry. Never in a million years did he think Richie would have put his love for Eddie out there like that. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with the information, he feels like he could burst but then Richie reaches for his hand and the contact grounds him. They’re here together, safe, and Richie wants to spend the rest of his life with Eddie. “I love you,” he says and a thrill goes through him when Richie looks over and says it back, a soft smile on his lips. Eddie can’t wait to kiss him again. 

They have messages from Beverly and Ben when they get back to the apartment. They haven’t been forgotten. It fills Eddie with relief. He sends a thumbs up emoji to the group chat and a private message to Beverly. This must be hard for her, going back to Chicago.

“Shit, I haven’t even looked at my phone today,” Richie mumbles, fishing it out of his pocket as he flops onto the couch next to Eddie, their shoulders pressed together. He doesn’t watch Richie use his phone, he wants to give him privacy, the kind Eddie’s mother and Myra never gave him. “Mile high club,” he chuckles. “Sorry Eds but that’s just not possible for us, I take up too much of a plane bathroom.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “I hate airplane bathrooms. They’re fucking porta-potties in the sky. I don’t know why people would actually want to fuck in there.” 

“It’s the thrill,” Richie says, absently, still scrolling. “And if it’s a stranger, it’s probably the last time you’ll ever see them.” 

Eddie stares at his profile, trying to decipher that statement. 

“No Eds, I haven’t fucked someone on a plane,” he says flatly. “I hate flying. The guy on valium who’s drooling on himself isn’t usually people’s first choice of sexual partner but hey, if you want to give me a handy under the blanket I won’t stop you.” 

“Oh God Richie.” Eddie gags a little. “You don’t fucking touch the blanket do you? They’re filthy, they don’t fucking wash them.” 

“Did you see a few months ago Nicole Byer found a literal piece of shit in her airline blanket?” Richie grins at him like this is great news and not the most disgusting thing Eddie has ever heard.

“What?!” Eddie has to cover his mouth, swallowing down the bile that stings his throat. 

“Oh fuck, please don’t hurl on me. I’ll still love you but I’d rather you didn’t.” 

“You’re joking. There’s no fucking way.” 

“It’s real. It was on Delta. She tweeted a picture.” He chuckles and turns his attention back to his phone. 

“No! Do not show me, Richie! I swear to God I’ll puke on you and it’ll be on purpose.” 

“Fine, but it definitely happened. You should make a Twitter. Well, maybe not, it’s a hellscape of shit, both metaphorical and literal in this case, but sometimes it’s fun.” 

Eddie frowns. Maybe he should tell Richie that he looked at Richie’s Twitter. Love of his life, that’s what Richie called him. The responses don’t matter, he read the important part. His phone dings and he looks at it. 

Richie: _Fuck you bill_

Richie: _I’m not the only one who needs beauty sleep_

Richie: _What happened you were such a cute kid?_

Richie: _M_ _ike you got any of the good shit_

Richie: _I_ _f Bev and Ben send more selfies I’m filing a restraining order_

Richie: _I_ _feel personally attacked by how hot you both are_

“Damn it Richie, do you have to send so many messages at once? And why don't you put periods? Use proper grammar, you're forty.” 

“It’s called being casual Eds, something you’ve never heard of.” He ruffles Eddie’s hair, messing it up but Eddie doesn’t care. He hasn’t put much effort into styling it since the hospital. “It’s how the cool kids communicate nowadays.” 

Eddie: _Bill is still cute!_

“You are not, have never been, and will never be a ‘cool kid,’ you loser,” Eddie teases him, squeezing his leg. Richie doesn’t respond, still focused on his phone. He’s quiet for too long, Eddie is waiting for a response that isn’t coming. “That...That was a lie.” Eddie clears his throat and Richie looks at him, eyebrows raised. “When we were kids...I thought you were the coolest fucking person in the world. I wanted you to think I was cool too, so fucking bad.” 

“Really?” Richie grins. 

“Yeah, fuckface, I already said it, don’t make me say it again.” Eddie elbows him gently in the side. “You were the coolest Loser. After Beverly.” 

“I know, you guys were really cramping my style.”

“I said you were cool, I didn’t say you had style. You have terrible taste in clothes,” Eddie lies and then because he’s trying this thing where he’s more honest he tells the truth. “Fine, I love it. I loved your stupid shirts, they should have looked stupid but you always had the confidence to pull them off, it drove me nuts.” 

“Wow Eds,” Richie laughs, light and fond. “You really did love me.”

“I still do,” he tells him. “Even this monstrosity.” He pulls at the lime green shirt with the pink triangles he borrowed from Richie. “I love it because it’s yours.” Richie smiles at him, smiles against Eddie’s lips as he presses against him, his mouth warm and inviting. Eddie could melt against him. He might. They pull apart when their phones chime with a new message. 

Mike: _Bill, you’re still cute, Eddie is right! Richie,_ _I’m out. I can pick up some herbal refreshment if you want._

Richie laughs and turns back to his phone. 

Richie: _Y_ _ou offering to buy me weed Mike?_

Mike: _Yes. Should I get some? Would Eddie be okay with it?_

Richie turns to Eddie. “Is that ok, Eds?”

“I’m not going to stop you guys,” Eddie says but the thought makes him nervous. What if Mike gets in trouble for buying it? What if someone calls the cops because they can smell it? Mike is an adult and the ease of the conversation implies he knows what he’s doing and people probably don’t go around reporting the smell of marijuana coming from a private residence even if it’s a rental.

“Thanks, Eddie baby.” Richie winks at him and Eddie feels like he just plunged into a frozen river. It must show on his face because Richie looks at him, confusion on his face. “What is it?” 

“Can you...Don’t call me that,” he says and suddenly he can’t look Richie in the eye. He stares at his lap, his stomach twisting. “My mom fucking called me her baby, Eddie baby, Eddie-bear, up until she died, it made me feel like a fucking child, it was so...It was like she refused to see me as an adult. She said it didn’t matter how old I was, I’d always be her little baby. And then Myra...” 

“I won’t call you that if you don’t like it,” Richie says and Eddie’s throat feels inexplicably tight. He holds it together, that’s such a stupid thing to cry over. “I assume you feel the same about _babe._ ”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. 

“If you’re not sure that’s a no,” Richie says. He doesn’t sound upset about it. “What about other names? Sweetie, sweetheart, darling, _s_ _hnookums_?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie repeats. Myra called him most of those and they didn’t always sound like endearments coming out of her mouth. “Give me time to think about it.” 

“Ok, no problem,” Richie says, twisting to face Eddie. “Hey,” he says, voice gentle and Eddie breaks out in goosebumps for some reason, “can you look at me?” He smiles when Eddie looks at him and it does something to Eddie’s heartbeat. “What about _Eddie my love_?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, eyeing Richie’s lips, warmth spreading through him. “I like that one.” 

“Love?” Richie tries and Eddie nods again. " _Love_?” he says again in a much better British accent than he’d been capable of as a kid. Eddie rolls his eyes but he can’t stop smiling. “Great. Now, Eddie my love, will you text Mike you said I’m allowed to smoke the ganj so he doesn’t think I’m lying?” 

Eddie picks up his phone and types a quick reply. 

Eddie: _It’s fine, Mike. Richie says he’ll pay you back._

Richie chuckles, reading over the message. “That’s fair, I should have said that.” 

Mike: _Okay! I’ll come over after work._

Beverly: _We haven’t even been gone for a day and you’ve turned to drugs._

Richie: _J_ _ealous Bev?_

Richie: _W_ _e can hotbox Ben’s cabin_

Ben: _It’s not decriminalized in Montana._

Richie: _M_ _hm and how are you so familiar with the legality of the devil’s lettuce sir?_

Richie: _H_ _ow many plants you got hidden on your vast tracts of land?_

Ben: _None but if you really want some for Christmas I know a guy._

Richie: _T_ _hat’s what I thought_

Ben: _I don’t like it that much. I don’t like how hungry it makes me._

Richie: _W_ _hat? That’s one of the best parts_

Mike: _I don’t care for that part either. It’s about the experience._

Richie: _Y_ _eah, the experience of how much In n Out I can fit in my mouth at once_

Ben: _There’s no In-N-Out in Montana_

Richie: _T_ _aco bell?_

Ben: _Yes, but not in Anaconda. There’s a Taco Time, Subway, and Dairy Queen._

Richie: _O_ _h I fuck with Dairy Queen stoned or not stoned_

Richie: _T_ _he first time I went to Dairy Queen stoned I almost cried when the guy turned my blizzard upside down_

Beverly: _You’ll really put anything in that trashmouth. Everyone knows Cold Stone is better._

Richie: _Y_ _ou have no idea Bev, also BLASPHEMY!_

“Richie,” Eddie yawns, silencing his phone. “I could use a nap before Mike gets here.” 

“Yeah?” Richie grins at him but his expression is watchful. “You want me to cuddle you to sleep? You want to be the little spoon?” 

“No,” Eddie says reflexively because Richie sounds like he’s teasing him. “I thought maybe you wanted to join me.” 

Richie does join him, wrapping his arm around Eddie, his chest pressed against Eddie’s back. “Is this alright?” he asks and Eddie nods. It’s more than alright. He loves the way Richie feels against him, he feels so safe and warm, the weight of his arm comforting. “Hey Eds,” Richie says, voice still quiet. “Do you want to go on a road trip with Mike?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Eddie mumbles, fighting against sleep for a few more minutes. “It sounds fun but...I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m living or if I’m keeping my job or not. That shit’s important I can’t just run away because I don’t want to make decisions.” 

“You said you don’t want to live in New York anymore, right?” Eddie makes a soft sound of agreement, pushing himself closer to Richie. “Then you can come live with me, if you want. Partner. Mi casa es su casa and shit.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, his heartbeat picking up. That sounds perfect. Living with Richie in California. Sunny, smoggy California. “I need to quit my job,” he sighs, waking himself up more with the realization. “Shit, divorces are expensive I can’t fucking quit my job. Fuck I need insurance.” He could get temporary medical insurance but the thought makes him nervous. He’ll need a long term solution unless he wants to buy it himself without an employer. Fucking America’s health care system. 

“Don’t worry about it Eds, I got you.” 

“No,” Eddie says forcefully. “You’re not paying for my divorce. It’s my fucking mess. I need to deal with it.” 

“Fine,” Richie says easily. “But I can pay for other things. You worry about untangling your finances from the wicked witch of the east and I’ll pay for hotels and food and shit.”

Eddie thinks it over. He wants to object but he knows that’s a reasonable idea. His income is going to dry up and he’ll have to share most of his savings which is really going to fuck up his retirement funds, not that Eddie had ever planned on retiring and spending even more time at home with Myra. He wonders what will happen to his investment portfolio, he could live off that in an emergency. Richie’s not working right now either though, shit.

“But...your money,” he says, very helpfully. 

“What about it? I’ve got plenty. I’ll work again Eds, don’t worry about it. I’m not anywhere near the end of my rope. And worst case scenario I’ll sell my stupid fucking four bedroom house with a pool that I hate and we’ll live off the proceeds for the rest of our lives.” 

“You hate your pool? What’s wrong with it?” 

“No,” Richie laughs, it feels pleasant against Eddie’s back. “There’s nothing wrong with the pool except I hate cleaning it. The house, it’s so fucking big and empty, I hate it. You’ll hate it too. Sometimes I think about selling it and getting a shitty apartment like I had when I moved to LA. At least it didn’t make me feel so...We can move if you want. Anywhere you want, Eds. Within reason. Any city with a good enough comedy scene or close enough to an airport so I can travel for work.” 

“Ok,” Eddie agrees. “I want to see your stupid house first.” 

“Our stupid house,” Richie says into Eddie’s hair. His warm breath feels nice on Eddie’s scalp. 

“No,” Eddie huffs sleepily. “Don’t put my name on shit. Myra might get it.” 

“Where do you live, Eddie my love? Condo? Apartment?” 

“House,” Eddie groans. “In Queens. Astoria. I hate it. Myra didn’t let me decide anything about it. It’s like it doesn’t even belong to me. Guess it won’t belong to me soon.” 

“You can do whatever you want to our house,” Richie tells him, Eddie’s heartbeat picking up again. _Our house_. “I want to look at everything and think hell yeah, Eddie fucking Kaspbrak lives here.” 

“Not fair,” Eddie mumbles. “It’s a team effort.” 

“Thanks for trusting my taste, Eds.” 

“I trust you.” It’s the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep. 

Eddie doesn’t like the smell of marijuana but it’s not nearly as bad as cigarettes; he hates the burn in his throat and lungs, it makes him nauseous if he lingers too long in the trail of someone’s cigarette smoke and he always leaves the encounter thinking _this is it, this is how I get cancer and die_. The amusement he feels watching Richie and Mike giggle together, their threads of conversation constantly changing and not leading anywhere, is worth the unpleasant smell. He’s content to watch and listen and eat, occasionally laugh when one of them says something that’s actually funny. 

“You’re a tough crowd, Eddie my one true blueberry,” Richie grins at him, his eyes red. Eddie can’t help laughing. Where the fuck did that come from? “It’s why I love you. I know when you laugh I fucking earned it. Look at him Mike, can you believe him?” Mike looks at Eddie, his head cocked to the side a little, the serious look of concentration as he leans forward in the armchair, making Eddie laugh again. “He’s so fucking perfect, look at that face. Cheekbones you can hang your hat on.” 

“You’re very good looking, Eddie,” Mike says, having no problem keeping up with Richie’s weird descriptions. It makes Eddie’s cheeks heat up. 

“Hey, back off Mikey, this one's mine for keeps.” 

“Yeah?” Mike asks, looking between them, his eyes wide. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. 

“Wow, congratulations guys. That’s great. Really, really great. I’m so...I’m so happy for you” To Eddie’s horror Mike’s eyes start to water. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mike cry before. 

“Oh my God Mike, are you gonna cry?” Richie asks. 

“No, I just. It’s beautiful, you know? How you found each other again.” Eddie hands him a tissue from the coffee table and he wipes his eyes. “It was meant to be, you know?” 

“We didn’t find each other man, it was you,” Richie says and now he sounds like he’s going to cry too. “If you hadn’t called us back I never would have remembered. I’d be fucking miserable for the rest of my life, fuck man. Eddie,” he turns to Eddie on the couch and throws himself at him, burying his face in Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Ow, fuck Richie, stitches,” Eddie wheezes out under the crushing weight against him. 

“Fuck, sorry Eds,” he relaxes his grip on him, sliding his arms lower, further away from Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s heart is beating fast. Richie hasn’t touched him this enthusiastically before and it stings a little because he’s high. “You know I’d never hurt you, right Eds? I want you to know that, love. I’ll never hurt you. I don’t want to ever hurt you.” 

“Ok,” Eddie pats Richie’s leg. He can’t hug him back, Richie has his arms pinned to his sides. “Thanks Rich.” 

“Beautiful,” Mike repeats. “It’s beautiful.” 

“We’re gonna get you laid, Mikey!” Richie declares, pulling away from Eddie lethargically and pointing at Mike. “We’re gonna go on a road trip and we’re gonna get you laid in every city.” 

“Richie,” Eddie says, exasperated because who knows if Mike even wants two gay wingmen. Eddie has never tried to be anyone’s wingman but he knows he would be terrible at it and he’s sure Richie would be too but for different reasons. Although talking up Mike would be the easiest thing in the world, Eddie could do that, extol the virtues of any of his friends but he’s sure it would come out more like a good recommendation letter than ‘hey, you should fuck my friend.’

“What’s your poison Mike? You been beaver trapping up here or is that not your cup of dick?” 

To Eddie’s surprise Mike shrugs. “I’m not really picky. The contents of someone’s pants has never been an issue, it’s the content of their heart.” 

“That was beautiful Mike,” Richie says. “You should write poetry. A pansexual poetry book.” Eddie doesn’t know what ‘pansexual’ means but he thinks he gets the gist and he supports all his friends romantic preferences. 

“Whatever you want Mike,” Eddie says. “But you’d really trust this fucking guy to wingman for you?” He ignores Richie’s indignant “hey” and focuses on Mike. “Don’t let Richie pressure you into anything, dude, if casual hookups aren’t your thing. It’s up to you.” 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Mike says. “I don’t know what I want. It’s been a long time since I’ve been romantically involved with anyone. They never lasted long. Maybe now I’ll have the mental space for a relationship, now that it’s over.”

Eddie keeps his mouth shut because Mike doesn’t need his pity but that’s heartbreaking, thinking about Mike lonely, stuck in Derry, never finding the kind of love and connection he deserved. That seems to be a trend among the Losers - except for Stan, Stan had found the love he deserved and still he didn’t fucking make it. None of this is fair but things are different now, they have each other again. 

“You’re a catch, Michael,” Richie says, sliding his arm around Eddie, gentler this time. “Whoever lands you is a lucky son, or daughter, of a bitch.” 

“Thanks, Rich. Hey, can I take a picture of you two?” 

“Fuck yeah, the world should see my cute boyfriend. That ok, Eds? Can we take pics? Pics or it didn’t happen. Oh my God what if life, like -” 

“Yes,” Eddie cuts him off before he can get distracted by whatever nonsense his brain is doing. “Take a picture, Mike.” 

Mike peels himself off the chair to get a better angle, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of them. “Shit, how does my hair look?” Richie turns to Eddie and Eddie smooths it out for him before settling against Richie, nervousness in his stomach. He doesn’t know what to do with his body suddenly, he’s always been bad at posing for pictures, he always overthinks and looks awkward but then Richie kisses the side of his forehead before resting his head against Eddie’s and Eddie feels himself relax, an easy smile forming on his lips. 

“Wow,” Mike says, sounding genuinely astonished, his eyes big and rimmed with red as he stares at his phone screen and Eddie can’t help but laugh.

“You’re so fucking cute when you laugh,” Richie says, melting against him, nuzzling his face into the side of Eddie’s neck. “Hey, can I kiss you?” 

“Ok,” Eddie says because he’s too happy to be self conscious about it. They kiss briefly, soft and sweet and Eddie can’t fucking believe how easy it is to love Richie, even in front of someone else. 

“Beautiful,” Mike says again and Eddie pulls away with a grin. 

“Yeah he is,” Richie laughs and Eddie doesn’t even mind that his breath smells bad. 

“Can I see?” Eddie asks and Mike immediately hands his phone over for Eddie to swipe through the pictures, Richie leaning in to look and making ridiculous noises as they look through them. Most of them are really good, Richie staring at Eddie’s profile with naked adoration on his face, Richie kissing his forehead with a smile and his arm around Eddie, heads knocked together grinning, Richie’s face on his shoulder hiding most of his face except his smile, his free hand reaching over his body to interlock with Eddie’s hand resting on Eddie’s leg, Eddie laughing. Kissing and pulling back, smiling at each other. “Can I send them to myself?”

“Send them to me too,” Richie says.

“Of course,” Mike grins at them so Eddie does it, careful to make a new group with him and Richie and not send them all to the group chat, not that he doesn’t want them to know but they don’t need a picture dump of Eddie and Richie cuddling. 

“I need my Twitter password,” Richie says, pulling his phone out to presumably text Beverly and ask for it. 

“You’re going to post them?”

“I won’t if you don’t want me too Eds, but fuck yeah I want the world to see my cute boyfriend.”

Eddie mulls it over, whether it will look bad if Myra tries to accuse him of infidelity but he decides he doesn’t actually care, not when Richie is looking at him with so much open love and hope. A divorce is a divorce and if Myra wants to divorce him because he’s with Richie then so be it. 

“Yeah, go ahead.” 

“You sure, my love? I can keep them private for my spank bank. Hey, why aren’t sperm banks called spank banks?”

“Jesus Richie, just post them, it’s fine.” Eddie blushes at the idea of Richie jerking off to pictures of him. 

“Why is it called that?” Mike asks, a faraway look on his face. “It doesn’t make sense. It’s for masturbating, not spanking.”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” Eddie says, hoping they change the conversation. He hears his and Richie’s phones chime with new messages and he hands Mike his phone back. 

“Maybe Bill would know,” Mike says, focusing on his phone. “I’ll text him.” 

“Why would Bill know?” Richie asks. 

“He’s a writer, he might know where the idiom comes from,” Mike answers, tapping away at his phone. 

“Idiot-dumb?” Richie tilts his head, looking at Mike and Eddie laughs so hard it hurts his stomach, leaning against Richie and trying to catch his breath. Maybe he’s getting contact high - shit what if it shows up in a drug test? He doesn’t know why he’d be having a drug test but it worries him for a second. 

“Idiom,” Mike repeats, slower. “It’s like...an expression. Phrases we use that mean something beyond the literal words.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says like he didn’t just remember what that word meant. “Like raining cats and dogs.” 

“Choking the chicken?” Richie grins and Eddie huffs. Clearly Richie has something on his mind. 

“Yes!” Mike says with far too much enthusiasm. 

“Spank the monkey.”

“There’s spanking again!” Mike says. “What does it _mean_?” 

“I don’t know how you got such good grades,” Eddie says to Richie. “We covered idioms in English class.” 

“Yeah well, that’s just my genius brain,” Richie taps his head like that should explain it. “I used a trick.” 

“You cheated?” Eddie asks, indignation making his voice rise. Richie got better grades than him and it annoyed the fuck out of Eddie and greatly amused Richie. 

“No, I just,” he taps his head again. “I let it go. I held onto it for the test and then poof. Anything not worth remembering got jettisoned, like space garbage. Holy shit! Is that where they got the name for _The Jettsons_?” 

“You can’t selectively forget things on purpose,” Eddie says, looking at Mike for agreement. 

“It wasn’t on purpose, I’ve got a terrible fucking memory.” 

“No way,” Eddie insists. “You remembered fucking... _solipsism_. You remembered every line from every movie we watched from like fifth grade to when I moved. Even the boring parts of _Top Gun_.” 

“Wow, wow, wow, Eddie, hold up. There are no boring parts of _Top Gun_ ,” Richie says, looking at Mike for agreement. “Tom Cruise was like...Fuck. He’s so short, just like my boyfriend. So fucking cute.”

“It’s true,” Mike says and Eddie doesn’t know which part he’s agreeing with. 

“Everyone shut up, Bev sent me my password. I need to think of a good caption. Hey Mike, do you have a twitter account? I’ll follow you. I gotta follow Bill, Bev, and Ben. I’m gonna share so many embarrassing stories about you assholes.” 

“I do,” Mike says, making Eddie the only one without one - he wonders if Stan had one. “It’s just my name.” 

“Of course you have one, you stalker. And you already follow all of us. Did you ever tweet at any of us?” 

“No,” Mike says and Eddie marvels again at how fucking strong and resilient he is. Eddie couldn’t have done it - been the last one in Derry, watching his friends move on with life, seeing them live lives where they didn’t remember what they went through together, how much they meant to each other. Living with the fear that It would return.

“Ok, how about these?” He shows Eddie the post - Richie staring at Eddie’s profile, a serious look on Eddie’s face, Richie grinning against his neck while Eddie laughs, the two of them kissing, staring at each other after and smiling. “I can take out the kissing one. Is it too much?” 

“No, I like it, post it,” Eddie says, heat creeping into his face. Richie lives a public life, which is hard for Eddie to fully wrap his head around but he wants Richie to be able to share what they have with each other. He can’t imagine what it would have done for either of them if any of the famous people they admired growing up had been openly gay. He watches Richie type out a caption at the top: 

**HE LIVES !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

He looks at Eddie for approval and Eddie nods, his throat tight, thinking of Richie telling the substantial amount of people following him that Eddie is the love of his life. He watches Richie’s thumb press send - how does he type so easily? His hands are so big, and suddenly Mike’s phone vibrates. 

“Oh my God Mike, do you have notifications on for my tweets?” 

He does, of course he does. Eddie watches Richie type out another tweet under that one: 

**Photo credit @mikehanlon**

Mike has to turn off his twitter notifications with all the people tweeting at him wondering why a librarian in Maine is taking romantic pictures of Richie Tozier and a mysterious man with a scar on his cheek. Richie posts the same thing on his seldom used Instagram with only a flurry of hearts and rainbow emojis as a caption. Eddie doesn’t know why it feels different from when Myra would post pictures of them on her Facebook - maybe it’s because he’s genuinely happy in the pictures Mike took, the only moment in time captured forever as proof that Eddie was happy as an adult even for a moment. There has to be more proof, more pictures where he’s happy, but those are probably in a landfill somewhere because he hadn’t had the strength to go through all of his mother’s things when she died; he’d been content to let it all go in the dumpster. He wonders if there were any photos of him and the rest of the Losers in there, if they would have meant anything to him when he looked at them.

Mike’s phone vibrates soon after, long steady bursts and Mike’s eyes light up. 

“Hey Bill,” he says into it. “Hold on, let me put you on speaker phone.” 

“Hey,” says Bill’s voice, sounding amused. “Why did you ask about the origin of the phrase _spank bank_?”

“Because he and Richie are high,” Eddie shouts so the phone can pick him up. 

“Oh,” Bill says, a hint of surprise in his voice. “H-hey, Eddie. And Richie.” 

“Hey Big Bill,” Richie shouts, too loud. “Does your big brain know?” 

“I don’t know,” Bill laughs. “But I Googled it and it came from _Ten Things I Hate About You_.” 

“Hey, why didn’t you just Google it, Mr. Librarian? Do some fucking research, that’s your whole thing,” Richie says and Mike shrugs, staring at his phone. 

“I like that movie,” Mike says. “It was based on _The Taming of the Shrew_.” 

“I liked it too,” Bill laughs. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it but it was a great modern adaptation. Well, a nineties adaptation. It’s dated now, I guess.” 

“I haven’t seen it,” Eddie admits. 

“What?” Richie says, too loud and Eddie pulls his head away from him, giving him an offended look on behalf of his eardrums. “Heath Ledger is fucking gorgeous in it, I thought I was going to die the first time I saw it. This guy from my improv group asked if I wanted to see it and I thought it was a date but he showed up with his girlfriend and her single friend to try to make it a double date and I sat there next to this chick I didn’t know and both of us said ‘ _wow_ ’ the first time he appeared on screen. Those fucking freckles. The fucking accent. Jesus Eddie, you have to see it. Mike hand me the remote, I gotta see if it’s on Netflix.” 

“I wish I was there, I’d watch it with you,” Bill says and Eddie can’t help frowning. He thought Bill would be happy to get the hell out of Derry. 

“Everything ok, Bill?” Eddie asks. 

“Y-yeah,” Bill says. “Ju-Just tired. I could use a vacation.” He laughs but it sounds forced. “I’m no-not ready to be back on set tomorrow. I haven’t even seen Au-Au-Audra yet.” 

“I’m sure everything will work out, Bill,” Mike says. “You’ve got this, man.” 

“Thanks Mike. I uh...I got a letter like yours. From Stan.” 

“Oh shit, he mentioned those,” Richie says, hovering over the movie in the search results. Mike looks at him, surprise evident on his face. 

“You talked to Stan, Richie?”

“Yeah. Last night or this morning. It was...It was fucking wild. He should be in touch with all of you. Fucking ghost of Christmas past shit. I uh...I really fucking miss him.” 

“Yeah,” Bill sighs. “Me too.” 

“Yeah,” Mike agrees, a deep frown on his face. 

“Fuckin A,” Eddie adds which makes Richie laugh. 

“You always put things the best, Eds. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Hey, I love you guys,” Mike says. “All of you, I love all of you.” 

“I love you guys too,” Bill says and then he sighs. “I should probably go but I’ll call you tomorrow Mike?”

“Alright. Have a good night Bill,” Mike says. 

“I see how it is,” Richie complains loudly.

“You jealous, Trashmouth? You can always call me if you want.” 

“I’m more of a texter but I know you’ll miss the sound of my voice so for you I’ll make an exception.” 

“Thanks Richie, means a lot,” Bill laughs, sounding more like himself. “Talk to you guys later. Don’t let Richie do something stupid.” He hangs up before Richie can respond. 

“Are we doing this then?” Richie asks, rubbing Eddie’s arm. 

“I’m in,” Mike says, settling on the couch with them for a better angle of the TV. 

“Why the fuck not,” Eddie says. “Let three forty year old men watch a teen romantic comedy from the nineties, that’s not weird.”

“It’s a classic, Eddie. A Heath Ledger classic and you can’t take it from me,” Richie says, pressing play. 

Eddie has to admit he does enjoy it pretty well, up until exhaustion takes him and he falls asleep but that’s not the movie’s fault. 

“Eds?” Richie asks, gently stroking his hair, the room quiet 

“Hm?” Eddie stirs. The TV is off, he must have missed the end, and possibly the middle. His neck hurts, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep sitting up like that. 

“Mike and I are gonna run an errand real quick, ok? You good here?” 

“Yeah, m’fine.” Eddie yawns, looking at the time. It’s past midnight. He doesn’t know what errand can be done in Derry at this hour but he’s not going to interrogate Richie about it, he’s an adult. Eddie hated having a _conversation_ every time he wanted to leave the house - both his mother and Myra did that, wouldn’t let him walk out the door unless they knew exactly where he would be and why and for how long.

“Ok, love you Eds.” Richie gives him a quick kiss and then Eddie has to heave himself off the couch and get ready for bed. He’s trying not to nod off while he brushes his teeth, sitting on the closed toilet lid so he grabs his phone and looks at the comments on Richie’s tweet. The top comment under it is from Beverly and it simply says:

**Goals**

There’s also a stranger who took a screenshot of Eddie and posted it with what must be a candid paparazzi shot of Richie wearing the same shirt with only an eye emoji as commentary. Someone under that tweeted: 

**that shirt must be made of boyfriend material**

Which makes Eddie snort laughter around his toothbrush. There are some comments expressing disgust but in terms of mood it’s mostly positive and the post already has an overwhelming amount of likes which blows Eddie’s mind because that many people looked at those pictures of him and Richie and liked it enough to spend the small amount of thought and energy to tap their approval. It shouldn’t mean anything, Eddie doesn’t need the approval of these strangers but it means something; it means Richie will look at this and see he has people’s support, people in his corner. 

There’s also a lot of questions about why a famous designer is commenting on Richie Tozier’s tweet, people trying to figure out who this mysterious stranger could be, and worryingly commentary about Richie’s weight - some people saying he looks good, others saying things like:

**what happened? your man can’t cook? I’ll cook for you bby**

Both kinds of commentary make him uncomfortable. He noticed Richie’s face looking gaunter than it did when he arrived in Derry and he knows it’s because he must have been too stressed to eat enough while Eddie was in the hospital. It makes him feel guilty but Eddie lost weight too so they can both indulge to put it back on. 

Eddie puts down his phone and finishes getting ready for bed after he’s Googled ‘ _what is a twink?’_ because people are debating whether or not Eddie qualifies as one - he’s not, he doesn’t count, if he has any say in it, he’s too old.

They’ve only spent one night together sharing the same bed but Eddie already misses his presence. Richie is there when Eddie wakes up, blinking against the morning light filtering in through the blinds, Richie lying next to him, facing Eddie and breathing evenly. He’s not wearing a shirt, Eddie can see dark chest hair peeking out from under the blanket, his bare shoulder. He resists the urge to look under the sheet and focuses on Richie’s face. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of Richie sleeping - or Richie doing any activity really, he keeps finding himself drinking him in like he’s dying of thirst, which he might be after so many years without him. Eddie can’t help himself, every time he looks at him he’s just so fucking thrilled because _holy shit it’s Richie Tozier_. Richie starts to move and the polite, non-creepy, thing to do would be pretend that he hasn’t been staring at him but he doesn’t look away as Richie’s eyes blink open, bare and sleepy as he looks back at Eddie. 

“Morning,” Richie yawns and Eddie doesn’t recoil from his morning breath. 

“Morning,” Eddie says quietly, trying not to push out too much air.

“Mmm, you’re stupid hot in the morning,” Richie mumbles sleepily, blinking at him. 

“You can’t even see me.” Eddie suppresses the urge to bury his face in the pillow to hide his smile. He remembers Richie taking off his glasses when they swam in the quarry, joking about not being able to tell any of them apart; getting so close to Eddie’s face Eddie couldn’t breath until he’d had no option but to grab Richie and try to dunk him under the water. Richie grins, inches his head closer and Eddie really can’t keep his eyes from drifting down. 

“You’re always fucking hot but bedhead Eddie is on another level.” 

“I don’t get bedhead, I barely move in my sleep.” One time he fell asleep with a book open on his chest and woke up with it in the same place.

“It’s enough,” Richie says, his eyes roaming over Eddie’s face.

Eddie leans in then to give him a quick kiss, soft and sweet as he tries not to breathe on him. 

“You should definitely stay over there,” Richie mumbles, eyes lingering on Eddie’s lips when he pulls away. Eddie raises his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. “Morning wood.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, his voice embarrassingly high, making Richie chuckle. “You uh...No shirt.”

“Yeah, I hope that’s ok. I didn’t pack my whole fucking wardrobe like someone else. I usually sleep in boxers. Or naked.” 

“Oh,” Eddie repeats, feeling his brain starting to short circuit. Is Richie lying less than a foot from him naked? 

“I’m not naked,” he adds quickly. “I wouldn’t traumatize you like that.” 

“That’s not traumatizing,” Eddie frowns. “I want to see you naked.” Richie’s eyebrows reach up like he’s surprised. “Of course I want to fucking see you naked, dumbass. I fucking love you and I...When we get there…” 

“It’s your funeral,” Richie says and Eddie makes a noise of disbelief. “I’ve never had sex with the lights on. I look best in dim to no light.” 

“Jesus Richie, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re…” He sighs, exasperation tying his tongue. He reaches out for him, running a hand over Richie’s bare arm. It’s his slightly numb hand and it hurts because he hasn’t had his painkiller yet but he needs to touch Richie, it far outweighs any discomfort. He feels the shape of him, the rise and fall of muscle up through his wide shoulders, the warmth of him against Eddie’s hand. “You’re fucking sexy, you giant idiot.” He can feel himself blush all the way down his chest. “I love your body,” he whispers, getting up the courage to press his hand to Richie’s bare chest. He runs his hand across it, feeling his chest hair, Richie’s heartbeat strong enough that he can feel it pulsing under his hand. He’s never touched another man’s chest, it’s completely different than a woman’s breasts and he loves it. “I love your chest and your shoulders and your arms, I fucking...I love all of you.”

Richie doesn’t say anything but his eyes are bright and focused on Eddie’s face. He cups Eddie’s hand, interlacing their fingers and holds it against his chest. “You better watch out Eds, you’ll turn me into a nudist if you talk like that.” 

“That’s unsanitary, you have to at least wear underwear. And a shirt in the kitchen, I don’t want to eat your chest hair.” 

“No?” Richie teases, running Eddie’s hand over his chest again. It does something to him, heat pooling in his groin. He likes Richie guiding his hand like that. “Remember when it was a cool, edgy thing to eat sushi off a naked lady? That was gross and kind of...I don’t know, like this person isn’t a _person_ they’re a fucking plate, that’s fucked up, isn’t it? Why wasn’t it ever guys though? What would I serve off of my body? I feel like I’m a chicken wings guy but that would fucking burn.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eddie wrinkles his nose. “People eat sushi off naked women? That can't be a real thing, it would violate a million health codes. Is that...Is that a fetish?”

“I don’t know, I think I saw it in a movie. Or a music video or something.” 

“Or porn?” 

“Eddie,” Richie looks at him like he just suggested something crazy - like eating sushi off of a naked woman. “If it’s got women in it I’m not jerking it. I tried when I was younger. Remember when we found that Playboy in the barrens?” 

“Yes,” Eddie groans. He was so disgusted and embarrassed by it. He had been against anyone picking it up, it looked used which was fucking disgusting and it made him feel sick to his stomach. He’d walked away first, glad Beverly hadn’t arrived yet, shame and panic burning at him, clawing at his chest and throat.

“We stashed it in the clubhouse but I borrowed it for a night, I mean after someone else returned it. I brought it home and I...read the articles. It was the final nail in my gay little coffin, it did fucking nothing for me but make me feel weird. I wonder if it’s still there. Wouldn’t it have been fucking funny if that was one of our tokens?” 

“It stressed me out so fucking much,” Eddie admits. “I felt sick looking at it. And mad because I didn’t want you to fucking like it. You acted like you liked it. You acted like it was all old news to you.” His cheeks burn with the memory. He’d used two sticks to pick it up, he’d been too disgusted to touch it and then he’d dropped it at the entrance of the sewer pipe, confident they were done messing around in there and no one would find it, grateful they were all too embarrassed about it to ask who took it home and didn’t bring it back.

“Wow, thanks Eds. For believing my shitty acting. You know one time after a show an angry woman came up to me and said ‘men like you make me sick, you couldn’t find a clitoris if you had a fucking map and it was glow in the dark’ and I looked her dead in the eye and said ‘what the fuck is a clitoris?’ and this guy high fived me.”

“That’s kind of terrible,” Eddie says, his mind drifting back to that article about Richie’s old material. 

“I know. Hey, do you think you could talk up my acting ability to my manager? Be a reference? ‘Richie fooled me into thinking he was anything but a flaming homosexual for years, he should win an award,’ that kind of thing?” 

“Was that supposed to be an impression of me? Because I don’t fucking sound like that.” 

“You need your ears checked, old man. Hey, you want to hear something fucking crazy? My manager is gay.” 

“Oh?” Eddie raises his eyebrows. He has no idea where this is going but he can feel Richie’s heartbeat still going fast under Eddie’s hand. 

"Yeah, I went to his wedding. I got them a fucking stupid expensive espresso machine. I got wasted at the reception and started flirting really hard with this cute fucking twink,” Eddie follows along, glad he Googled what that was last night, “one of your lookalikes and you know what he did? He came over and said ‘excuse him, he's had too much to drink,’" Eddie assumes the voice he does is an imitation of his manager. "And he pulled me out of the reception and called me a fucking cab. He said ‘you have to be careful, Rich, there are _people_ here. You need to think of your reputation’ and he fucking waited with me and made sure I got in the cab alone. It was the only fucking time I let my guard down because I was drunk and at a fucking _gay wedding_ with a ton of _gay people_ and I thought hey, maybe this isn’t so bad, maybe it’s ok for me to want this but fucking Steve took time away from his own fucking wedding because _I was being too gay_."

"Jesus Richie, that's fucking terrible." Eddie fumes, his heart beating fast. How could someone do that?

"It was fucking rude, making me sit through him and his husband making doe eyes at each other. I was fucking miserable because I thought...that could never be me, I’m never going to have that.” There’s so much sadness on his face it hurts. Eddie wants to give that to him, he fucking will, ‘ _let’s just spend the rest of our lives together,’_ that’s what Richie had said, and they will. “You know what he said when I came out? I wasn't answering his calls so he fucking texts me ‘you should have consulted me about rebranding’ fucking _rebranding_ Eddie, the fuck?" 

"You fired him, right? Please tell me you fired him." Eddie is starting to shake, he’s so fucking mad. He squeezes Richie’s hand. 

"I didn't," Richie says, squeezing Eddie’s hand back. "We talked about it. He said he thought I was joking. I don't know why he thought I'd fucking joke about someone I love being in a fucking coma but he apologized. He said I could give writing my own material a shot." 

"A _shot_? It's your fucking decision Rich, it’s _your career_ , he doesn't get to make those decisions for you. Jesus, you could do so much better than that piece of shit." 

"We've been through a lot," Richie says. "I don't want to replace him. Finding someone else to put up with me would be too fucking hard. Plus we have a contract." 

"Listen to yourself Rich. That's not a good enough reason to continue any kind of relationship, personal or professional.” 

“I don’t know,” Richie shrugs. “Do you want to be my manager?”

“Fuck no,” Eddie says. “I wouldn’t know what the fuck to do. You need connections and shit to do that, don’t you? I’m a nobody, no way people would return my calls or listen to me. Also it’s such a bad fucking idea to work with someone you’re in a relationship with.” 

“Yeah, look at Bill and Audra,” Richie agrees, stroking Eddie’s hand with his thumb. 

“What’s wrong with Bill and Audra?” Eddie asks, trying to calm himself down from thinking about Richie’s shitty manager. Seriously, what the fuck? How could another gay person treat someone like that? Shouldn’t there be some kind of solidarity? 

“It’s hard to tell but there’s definitely some friction and not the fun kind.” 

Eddie files that information away for a later date. “Rich, will you promise me you’ll at least think about finding a new manager? One who will support you as a person?” 

“He usually -” Richie cuts himself off at Eddie’s glare. “I’ll think about it Eds. Now that my boner has been successfully killed we should get up. What do you want for breakfast, my love? I’m feeling an omelet with bacon, you want that?” 

“Sounds good,” Eddie says. The manager situation is important but if Richie doesn’t want to talk about it anymore Eddie won’t make him. A part of him is just pleased Richie shared something so personal with him. “Do you want help?” 

“If you want to help you can,” Richie grins at him, leans forward and kisses his nose. 

“I’ve never made an omelet before,” Eddie admits. “Or bacon. But I never made pancakes or sausage and I think those turned out alright.” 

“It was good, a little burnt but nothing syrup couldn’t fix. An omelet is a little harder but I can show you. Fuck, speaking of omelets and sushi, have you ever had...that sushi omelet? It’s kind of like a sweet omelet on rice and it’s fucking delicious. I watched a tutorial for it once but they had a special pan shaped like a rectangle and I don’t have one.” 

“I’ve never had it,” Eddie says. “Cold eggs? That’s weird.” He’s been to a Japanese restaurant with his coworkers before but he’d been too afraid to try any raw fish, sticking to the vegetable dishes and cooked things. Eggs are another thing he’d needlessly avoided for years _just in case_ even though his doctor told him he’s not allergic. It says something that any time Eddie ate something and got a stomach ache he avoided it like it was the food’s fault and not his unchecked anxiety problem. “I didn’t even know pans came in rectangles.” 

“Maybe I’ll buy one and we can eat it warm.” 

“Let me try your regular omelet first,” Eddie says, finally moving to get out of bed, excited by the prospect of cooking with Richie. In the years that Eddie lived alone before marrying Myra he subsisted mostly on takeout, canned soup, salads, and cereal and then Myra had taken the burden of responsibility on herself to feed him and he hadn’t thought about cooking anymore aside from enjoying watching it on TV. Maybe he can learn to make something Richie likes and surprise him with it.

“Did you want to do anything today?” Richie asks when he’s got a cup of coffee in his hand and Eddie is standing a safe distance away from the bacon as it sizzles and pops - it’s too aggressive, Eddie is crossing it off the list of things he wants to learn to cook. 

“No,” Eddie says. He can’t explain the weird feeling he had in the hospital, not even to himself, the feeling that he had unfinished business in Derry. That feeling is fading now, since Richie showed him their initials on the kissing bridge. It’s not completely gone though. It almost feels like he needs something from Derry but he’s not sure exactly what yet or even if Derry can give it to him. Derry seems more like a place that takes. “Unless you want to do something?” 

“No,” Richie says. “The bridge was the only thing I wanted to show you. I meant it yesterday.” He glances over to the chair Eddie dragged into the kitchen. “I hate this town. I want to get us the fuck out of here. Jesus, it made me so fucking relieved when you said you’d go with me after the fortune cookies but...Fuck.” 

“What is it?” Eddie prompts when he doesn’t continue, eyeing the tension in Richie’s back. 

“I almost left,” he says after a moment, his voice quiet. Eddie almost didn’t hear him over the sizzling coming from the pan. “I almost left town without you, I was so fucking scared, I thought I couldn’t do it. After we split up. It was Stan. Stan kept me here.” 

“You did it though.” Eddie pushes himself up so he can go to him, rub his back and press his face to Richie’s shoulder. Eddie can’t hold that against him. It had attacked Richie right in fucking front of him and Eddie had been too paralyzed with fear to help. “You didn’t leave. You didn’t leave us, even when It…” 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes out and Eddie can feel the tension in his back. “It was so fucking close Eds. I can’t...I don’t know what would have happened to me if you’d…” 

“I’m here, Rich.” Eddie kisses the back of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Yeah,” Richie sighs. “I know. It’s just fucking...You know.”

“It’ll get easier.” Eddie wraps his right arm around Richie. “Give it time.” 

“Speaking of time,” Richie says, forced lightness to his voice. “Where are we going next week? Did you want to stick around Derry until Mike is free from his life of book peddling and we can watch him marvel at every old building on the way to who-the-fuck-knows-where or can we get the fuck out of here?” 

“We can leave,” Eddie says, settling back on the chair. “My lawyer,” those words feel weird in his mouth, “said she has paperwork for me to sign.” If the apartment had a printer he could get a head start printing things out. He should really get out his laptop and look over the financial things he’ll need to bring - how much is left on their mortgage and their joint debts, which thankfully isn’t much because they pay it off every month because Eddie is fucking responsible, but thinking about that right now gives him a headache. 

“Cool,” Richie says, not even managing to sound a little sincere. “I’m no stranger to the Big Apple. It’ll be fun. You getting divorced, me eating room service in my underwear. That sounds fun.” 

“If you don’t want me to talk about it I won’t,” Eddie says. It’s going to be hard, he knows it will be unless by some miracle Myra goes along with it in which case it will be marginally less stressful but still probably take months. 

“No,” Richie says. “I want to hear about it. It’s just still fucking weird. I sat in the same room as her for days and I kept looking at her because _holy shit_ you had a _wife_ and she was right fucking there and as soon as you woke up you were going to kiss her and tell me to fuck off back to California but then you started calling my name, like, a lot Eds, you said it _a lot_ and then she wouldn’t stop glaring at me like she fucking knew I was there because I was in love with you.”

“I’m sorry, Rich.” It makes him feel oddly chilled, the thought of the two of them spending time together. Richie and Myra never should have had to exist in the same place at the same time because Eddie should never have married her. In another life, one where he hadn’t forgotten everything he learned that summer, everything he learned about himself, he never would have. 

“I felt like I was in the fucking Twilight Zone or some shit,” Richie says, moving on to making the omelets. “I felt like I was going insane looking at you lying there hooked up to all that shit, my brain just couldn’t do it, Eds. I think I just babbled at you and...Until she showed up demanding to know who I was and why I was in her husband's hospital room and why I wouldn’t leave and _why I wouldn’t stop crying_. I couldn’t fucking talk anymore and the silence was so fucking...She tried to get me kicked out but it’s _Derry_ and thank fuck they already liked me more than her. I started leaving when she did though, to get her to shut the fuck up. She didn’t want me alone with you, like I would...I’d walk around the parking lot and then I’d go back to your room.” 

“I’m glad you stayed Rich,” Eddie says, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“You know what I told the nurse at the hospital so she’d let me stick around? I told her _yeah, technically you were married_ but I was your lover and you were going to leave her for me. Can you believe that shit? Talk about manifesting your dreams into existence, that’s some Secret bull shit.”

“Really?” Eddie asks. “I thought it was because you paid them in selfies and money.”

“I did that too but it’s what got me in the door first.” 

“I’m glad it worked. I don’t know what I would have done if I woke up and you were gone. It would have made me fucking miserable. I just...I really wanted to see you again.” 

“Yeah, I kind of got that when you wouldn’t stop fucking moaning my name.” Richie says, carrying the plates to the table. 

“I wasn’t moaning your name,” Eddie says, dragging his chair back to the table, even though he has no idea if he was or not. 

“Fine, mumbling then. I thought she was going to strangle me with your IV cord when you really woke up. You fucking woke up and told me you love me and she was right there Eds, on the other side of you being like ‘ _Eddie how could you? Eddie tell this homo to get out of your room. Eddie don’t touch his hand you don’t know where that’s been,_ ’ do you remember that?” 

“The part with you. I kind of...I was so focused on you I didn’t hear anything else. It’s like my brain filtered her out.” It makes him feel guilty but he knows it shouldn’t, it wasn't a conscious decision - easier said than done though when his mother and Myra wielded guilt like a weapon that he was too slow and weak to avoid. He cuts into his omelet, fluffy and filled with bacon and tomato and melted cheese. It’s the kind of thing he might eat at one of the twenty-four hour diners in Astoria when he was mad at Myra and needed to get out of the house and he was feeling rebellious. She sometimes made Eddie egg white omelets because his mother died of congestive heart failure which is ridiculous because it had nothing to do with cholesterol and if it did Eddie’s cholesterol is fine, Eddie’s body has always been fine and he’s nothing like his mother, in any way, and he never will be. “This is really good, Rich.” 

“Thanks,” Richie says. “Sometimes I order delivery and the driver recognizes me and it weirds me the fuck out so I cook for a while. I can’t make anything fancy though.” 

“That would be weird.” When Richie got recognized in the restaurant it had felt totally surreal, and by a _child_ ; a child who according to Bill is dead now. He doesn’t want to think about that.

“You’re ok with that, right? Because if you’re with me you’re probably going to get recognized too sometimes.” 

“I...Yeah, I’ll get used to it, I guess,” Eddie shrugs, pain shooting through his shoulder. He doesn’t mind the pain as much as he expected, it’s a little pleasant actually, a reminder that he’s _alive_.

“Do you want me to get your pain meds?” Richie asks, ready to get up but Eddie shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad if I don’t move.” 

Richie stays where he is and it makes Eddie embarrassingly grateful because Myra never listened to him, always wanted to do everything for him, always treated him like he was helpless without her. He feels a flash of anger at her, at himself for putting up with it for so long. 

“So, what other classic movies have you not seen that you want to sleep through?” Richie asks over his coffee. 

“ _Ten Things I Hate About You_ isn’t a _classic_. But you were right, Heath Ledger was fucking hot in it.”

“Just pick something good so I don’t get stuck watching shitty reality TV or a fucking cheesy, terrible teen drama, or _sports_.” 

“Fuck you, there’s nothing wrong with any of those.” 

“You’re lucky I fucking love you because you have terrible taste in TV. And clothes. And men.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You can pick something then. Just...nothing scary. Or too violent.” 

“You don’t like horror?” Richie asks. 

“Not really. You do? After everything we’ve been through?” 

“Sometimes,” Richie says. “I’ve read a few of Bill’s books and seen his movies. It’s so fucking weird that it was _Big Bill_ and I couldn’t remember him. Fucking wild. There was just nothing, when I read his name or looked at his picture on the back of the book...I don’t usually read horror though so maybe...I don’t know maybe I was drawn to it because I did recognize him, on some unconscious level.” 

“Maybe,” Eddie says. Stan remembered Bill even before the phone call, he and Eddie had talked about it. Eddie didn’t remember any of them. “I did watch some of your shit before I remembered you, even though I didn’t think it was that funny. I still...shut up.” Eddie blushes when Richie grins at him and gives him a wink. 

“You can say it Eds, you had the hots for me. Even without remembering you fucking loved me.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Maybe I just have a type.” 

It’s incredibly easy, being with Richie. When they’re talking, leaning against each other, kissing on the couch, it’s so easy to forget the world exists outside of the little bubble of safety they’ve created when Richie is touching him.

They each get a phone call that day, Eddie first and his fingers itch to answer even as anxiety rocks him because fuck, it’s Myra’s sister so his first instinct is that it’s important - although she and Eddie never seem to agree on what’s exactly important enough to call him about, but then he remembers that he doesn’t have to answer her anymore. He feels guilty for a moment though because maybe something bad happened to Myra but even if it did it’s not his problem anymore.

“Everything ok?” Richie asks, his arm around Eddie, rubbing Eddie’s arm when he can’t rid himself of the tension in his body. 

“Yeah, it’s just Myra’s sister. Fuck, I hope I never have to talk to her again. I should...I should just block her number.” Before he can though he sees the voicemail icon. His finger hovers over it. There’s no harm in listening at least, just in case. He has to hold the phone away from his ear as she yells at him, his heart pounding. 

_“How fucking dare you, you fucking weasel?! After everything Myra has done for you! I always knew you were a fucking -”_

Eddie fumbles with his phone, trying to stop the barrage of insults. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears. 

“Jesus,” Richie swears, his voice rough. “What a fucking family.” 

“I know,” Eddie sighs, feeling shaky. He blocks her number and her husband’s number just in case he decides to voice his opinion. “Myra didn’t seem so bad sometimes, next to most of her family.” He laughs shakily, like that’s some kind of triumph, marrying the least-worst member of a family. 

“Forget about those fuckers,” Richie says, pulling Eddie back against him, kissing his brow. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Fuck them.” He rests his hand on Richie’s leg, trying to calm himself. 

Richie’s phone call is better but it makes Eddie nervous, the way Richie says “fuck I should probably get this” and then rushes into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. It takes him a while to come out and Eddie can’t concentrate while he’s gone, his mind racing with every worst case scenario that could be happening until Richie comes back, settling himself back against Eddie. 

“That was Steve, my manager,” Richie says when Eddie gives him a questioning look. He doesn’t want to pry, he could never talk on the phone or text without his mother or Myra asking ‘who was that Eddie?’ and it annoyed him to no end. “It was good. He apologized again. Like he really meant it.”

“That’s good, Rich,” Eddie says, interlacing their fingers. He still feels like Steve is probably a piece of shit but if Richie accepts his apology and wants to keep working with him Eddie will support him. It’s Richie’s decision after all. 

“It’s your fault,” he says, warmth in his voice as he squeezes Eddie’s hand. “He saw those fucking pictures I tweeted. He said he’s never seen me that happy.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, feeling overwhelmed. He makes Richie happy, _noticeably happy_.

“We talked some shit out. Feels good, Eds. Who fucking knew? I promised him I’d start writing. Shit, I wish I packed my laptop, I’ve been taking notes on my phone but it’s not the same.” 

“I brought mine, you can borrow it.” 

“Of course you brought yours,” Richie smiles at him, his eyes raking over Eddie’s face fondly. “What the fuck didn’t you bring?” 

“My birth certificate and social security card,” Eddie says. He’s getting worried about that. He could order new copies but that would take time and he doesn’t have a fucking address to even send them to. He really doesn’t want to go back to his and Myra’s house, he doesn’t want to see her again unless there’s an attorney present. Maybe he can sneak in while she’s at work and get what he needs - including a copy of their marriage certificate for the divorce filing. “It’s in my carry on bag. In one of the bigger bags. If you want it.” 

“Ok.” Richie gets up. “Might as well keep it handy in case inspiration strikes. I have so much material to work with, so many years of repressed sexuality and embarrassing stories. People fucking love embarrassing stories.” Eddie disagrees, he hates embarrassing stories, he always gets second hand embarrassment. “Which bag?” Richie shouts from the bedroom. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie shouts back. He doesn’t remember, all he remembers is throwing open one of his bags when he was waiting for his Uber and shoving his carry on bag in so he had one less thing to lug around with him. 

“Oh my God,” he hears Richie say. 

“What?”

“Eddie,” Richie says, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. “What the fuck is this?” Eddie turns to look, his jaw dropping open of its own accord because Richie is standing there holding the nice velvet bag he keeps his _toys_ in. 

“Don’t open that,” Eddie says quickly, his heart racing. Richie’s long fingers touch the outside of it, feeling the shapes inside, his eyes wide and Eddie can feel himself turning red. “Stop fucking touching it.” Richie’s fingers stop, his eyes fixed on Eddie, looking a little dazed. 

“You brought your sex toys to _Derry_? Did you plan on using them? In between running from the fucking clown?” 

“No,” Eddie snaps. Fucking talk about embarrassing stories, this will take the cake if he doesn’t die right now from mortification. “I fucking told you, I was panicking. I grabbed everything I take with me when I stay somewhere.” There’s no way he’d leave the bag at home with Myra, finding a hiding place she wouldn’t look was hard enough but leaving it unattended was too risky given how much she liked to riffle through his meager possessions. He doesn’t know how many times he caught her checking the pockets on his laptop bag, not even sure what she was looking for.

“I can’t believe you had the guts to fly with these.”

“It’s not like I put it in my carry on. I don’t even have my fucking address or number on that luggage tag. If it gets lost then it gets fucking lost.” 

“But then you’d lose your goodie bag.” Richie grins, shaking the contents of the bag. 

“Knock it off, Rich,” Eddie bites out. “You were just supposed to get my fucking laptop not go through my shit.” 

“Sorry, Eds.” Richie gives him a half smile. He does look a little sorry. “I was looking for it but then my hand wrapped around...Some of these feel kind of big.” 

“Just put it back,” Eddie says, his voice hoarse. He wants to disappear right now, he feels so embarrassed and ashamed. He knows he shouldn’t. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. If one of his friends said they used this shit he’d think it was fine; to each their own, everyone has the right to explore their sexuality, stuff like that but it’s not them it’s _him,_ it’s _Eddie_ and he feels shame burn in his stomach. 

Richie does as he’s told, coming out of the bedroom with Eddie’s laptop in its case. He sets it on the coffee table and turns his attention to Eddie, sitting next to him without touching him. 

“I’m sorry,” Richie says after a tense moment. “Can I hold your hand?” Eddie eyes him out of the corner of his eye. He can’t look him in the eye yet but he offers Richie his hand. Richie takes it, letting out a sigh of relief as their hands touch. Eddie feels some of his own tension release. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Eds. I just...It surprised me. It’s fucking…”

“Embarrassing?” Eddie offers.

“I was stuck between sexy and hot. Jesus Eddie, the thought of you…Maybe…” Eddie looks at him then and Richie looks back, his pupils wide. “If you wanted, I could use them on you. Not now, obviously but...” 

Eddie forgets how to breathe for a second, thinking of Richie between his legs, big hands wrapped around...“You...But wouldn’t you rather…” _Fuck me_ he wants to say. 

“Use my dick?” Richie says and Eddie swallows. _Hey, my first hard on since the hospital,_ he thinks, blood rushing to his cock. Eddie nods, sure his hand must be getting sweaty in Richie’s. “If that’s what you want. I just want to make you feel good, Eds. Whenever we get there. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Is that how you prefer things?” Eddie asks, his entire body feeling like he’s going to catch on fire. 

“Topping?” Richie asks like it’s a completely normal topic of conversation. It eases some of his anxiety, how normal Richie seems talking about this. “You have so much gay lingo to learn. I uh...I’ll do either. I’ve topped more than I’ve bottomed but really, whatever you fucking want Eds, I’m game. To be honest, it’s been a while. Either way.” 

“Oh, ok,” Eddie says, his voice strained. This is too much, he doesn’t remember the last time he was this turned on, the thought of Richie on top of him. He either needs to come or take a cold shower, all he knows is he can’t keep this up, he feels like he’s going to crawl out of his skin.

“You ok, love?” Richie asks, his eyes fixed on Eddie’s face.

“I - Yeah. I’m...I’m fine. Just…” He looks down at his lap, his cock straining against his khakis. He watches Richie’s gaze lower. 

“Do you want me to touch you?” Richie asks, voice slow and clear, his thumb stroking Eddie’s hand. “Or give you some privacy or something?” 

“I um…” Eddie’s brain isn’t working right, he’s so full of raw desire he’s surprised he’s not shaking like a leaf. “You can touch me, if you want. If you don’t think it’s too soon.” 

“What do _you_ want, Eds?” Richie asks, squeezing Eddie’s hand. Eddie swallows. 

“I want you to touch me,” he breathes, his voice quiet but steady. 

“With?” Richie prompts him. “My mouth or my hand?” 

“Hand,” Eddie says quickly. Richie’s fingers twitch in Eddie’s hand. His heart hammers. The thought of Richie’s mouth on him makes him feel dangerously close to coming in his pants.

“Here? Or do you want -”

“Just fucking touch me Rich,” Eddie says, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch. He feels so fucking hot he’s probably not going to last long. 

“Ok,” Richie says, letting go of Eddie’s hand and cupping him through Eddie’s pants. 

He suppresses a groan at the contact, his hips rocking up for more friction. He hisses, pain in his shoulder from the full body movement. “Fuck,” he groans. “I’m not...I’m not supposed to do strenuous activities.” 

“I can stop,” Richie says but he hasn’t moved his hand away which is good because Eddie’s hips might try to follow again. “Or you can sit fucking still and let me do the work.”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, his throat working hard to swallow. “Don’t stop. I won't move.”

Richie rubs at him through his pants, touch firm until Eddie can’t take it anymore, hands going to the button on his pants, his hands shaking as he unbuttons himself and pulls down the zipper. His heart races as he eases himself out of his boxer-briefs, his cock springing out, leaking and eager. He looks at Richie, looks at the expression on his face and his embarrassment fades. Richie’s hand wraps around him, his thumb rubbing over Eddie’s slit, spreading around the moisture. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. His hand is so warm and big, the pressure of his fingers wrapped around Eddie’s cock perfect. Richie’s eyes are hungry, bouncing between Eddie’s cock and his face. “Kiss me.” Eddie licks his lips and Richie shifts to get his body closer, twisting sideways so he can kiss Eddie without Eddie having to move too much, his tongue plunging into Eddie’s mouth without preamble. Richie’s hand starts slow and steady, like he’s trying to learn every inch of Eddie’s cock, trying to familiarize himself with it, before he starts to pick up the pace, Eddie moaning wantonly into his mouth. “What about you?” Eddie asks against Richie’s mouth. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Richie breathes before diving back in to kiss Eddie again. Eddie reaches for him, palming the bulge in Richie’s jeans. Fuck it’s big. “Hold on,” Richie says quickly, pulling away to shed his jeans with a desperate speed that would be comical if Eddie wasn’t so turned on, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs - grey with tacos and hot sauce, which would be distracting except there’s a wet spot and then Richie’s cock is right there, dark hair at the base and so fucking thick Eddie aches inside. 

Richie resumes, his hand wrapping around Eddie’s cock again, spreading the new wetness over his length and pumping with sure strokes. Eddie gropes for Richie’s cock, his hand feeling clumsy. Richie groans into Eddie’s mouth as Eddie feels him - his smooth, hot skin, palming the tip of Richie’s cock to wet his hand. He has lube in his ‘goody bag’ as Richie called it but this is fine for now. He’s never touched another man’s cock and in the back of his head he can hear Myra’s sister yelling homophobic insults at him but it doesn’t deter him, instead he finds himself thinking _fuck yeah I am_ , fierce and proud as he finds a good rhythm and angle so he doesn’t have to move his arm too much, Richie grinding against him and moaning, teeth scraping against Eddie’s tongue. It feels so fucking good, both being touched and touching; Richie’s cock is bigger than his and Eddie can’t be upset about it, it thrills him, having it in his hand, feeling the weight of it sliding against his palm and fingers.

“Faster,” he says before kissing Richie again and Richie makes a noise of agreement, his hand pumping faster, bringing Eddie closer. He tries to do the same, his hand gliding over Richie’s throbbing cock. He can feel it building, low in his belly. He doesn’t remember the last time he jerked off, it must be weeks ago at this point. His rhythm stutters as he comes, a choked sound coming from deep in his throat, spilling himself over Richie’s fingers. It keeps hitting him in waves, he doesn’t remember ever coming this hard. Richie slows down, squeezing the rest out of him; Eddie’s hand around Richie’s cock struggling to keep going. “Fuck,” he breathes out. His entire body feels like jelly but Richie hasn’t come yet and his arm is getting sore. “I don’t know if I can finish you,” he says, too relaxed to be too embarrassed about it. 

“No worries, I got it Eds,” Richie murmurs but Eddie doesn’t want to move his hand off of Richie’s cock. “I’m close.” 

“Help me,” Eddie says, squeezing Richie’s cock lightly and starting back up again, stroking him slowly. “Show me how you like it.” Richie wraps his hand around Eddie’s, guiding his hand faster, twisting his body so he can shove his face against Eddie’s neck. It feels so hot, Richie’s breath against his skin, he can feel his lips brushing Eddie’s neck, his teeth skimming the surface. “Go ahead,” he encourages and then Richie is muffling his groan directly into Eddie’s skin. It sends a thrill through him, Richie’s hand working faster, building up to his own climax when he spills himself over both of their hands, hot and messy but Eddie doesn’t care at all.

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie breathes, pressing a gentle kiss to where he’d just been sucking and biting, his voice raw. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been thinking about that.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, letting his head roll back to rest against the back of the couch again. He feels boneless, his hand still wrapped around Richie’s length, still warm and pleasant in his hand even as it starts to lose its stiffness. Just like Richie it’s big and perfect, Eddie can’t believe how unbelievably unfair it is that they haven’t been doing this for years. 

“I should clean us up,” Richie sighs and while Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching him he would like to have less come on him so he doesn’t object. He lets Richie wipe him off and help him stand so they can get to the bedroom to change before resuming the show they were watching, or at least that’s Eddie’s plan because he’s not going to wear come stained clothes all day but he ends up stripping off his pants and underwear, pulling on a fresh pair and collapsing on the bed, patting the space next to him. Richie joins him when he’s changed, wrapping himself around Eddie and kissing the back of his head. 

“I love you,” he sighs into Eddie’s hair. 

“Love you too, Rich,” Eddie sighs, squeezing the hand resting against his stomach and closing his eyes, feeling that overwhelming sense of peace he’s been chasing since he woke from the star filled sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't make the cut but I liked it from reflecting on being close to Richie at the quarry: The closest their faces got when they were younger was when Richie had thought it was a hilarious prank to pretend to drown in the quarry, Eddie rushing to give him mouth to mouth only for Richie to spit water in his face.   
> ^It was a reference to a scene from Now and Then (1995), which is a great coming of age movie, and sometimes Roberta and Chrissy have good girl-reddie energy. I MEAN [look](https://youtu.be/RJrTvkTXEl4)


	5. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finds closure and missing parts of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a discussion about domestic violence, a non-explicit panic attack, a discussion about getting tested for STIs, the questionable comedic choice to imply everyone in Eddie’s office says “bro” and “dude” casually, references to real hotels which I spent too much time looking at for how little I described them, Richie discussing his sexuality with his mother (in the book Richie’s parents are both dead but I gave him back his mother, also book Richie’s family is Catholic which isn’t super relevant but informs Maggie’s initially tepid reaction to him coming out), Richie stress vomiting (non-explicit), Richie’s own Myra related trauma, an unrealistic timeline of meeting with a divorce lawyer, Stan’s letter, excessive use of the word “padfolio,” and Myra gaslighitng Eddie and behaving irrationally under stress (which in my experience with people with NPD is normal). If the Myra stuff is upsetting feel free to ctrl F your way to: “It’s ok,” Faye says, hitting ‘stop’ on the recording. After she turns up at his lawyer's office.
> 
> Chapter title inspired by the song C7osure (You Like) by Lil Nas X

_Whispered something in your ear_

_It was a perverted thing to say_

_But I said it anyway_

_Made you smile and look away_

_Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby_

_As long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine_

_Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby_

_Nothing’s gonna take you from my side_

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Mike’s podcast is an instant hit and he insists it’s because Richie and Bill were guests and promoted it to all their followers but Eddie doesn’t think so because most of the comments are about the host’s deep, smooth voice. Eddie listens to it twice the day Mike releases it, stretched out on the couch with his earbuds in while Richie types away on his laptop at the dining table. He leaves a five star review, not because it’s Mike’s but because it’s good, he swears he’s not that biased, he just has good taste. 

“How would you explain all this fucked up shit if it was one of your books?” Richie asks Bill.

“Aliens,” Bill says and Eddie can hear the wry smile in his voice. Richie and Mike break into laughter and Eddie can’t help smiling at the inside joke. Under their laughter he thinks he hears his own laugh, further away. “Always aliens, if you get stuck. You don’t have to explain that much because it’s _aliens_.” 

“This is why your endings suck,” Richie chuckles. 

“What about you, Rich? If you had to put a narrative arc to Derry, what would you use to explain everything?” Mike asks.

“That’s a tough one,” Richie says, sounding genuinely thoughtful. “Government experiments. There’s no fucking way this is a real place, we were all part of some fucked up experimentation. Some _X-Files_ bullshit.”

Eddie watches Richie work, letting himself relax into the moment, the sound of his friends in his ears, the clicking of keys in the background, mid-afternoon light filtering in through the window. He’s feeling pretty fucking good.

They have a plan now, for the next week at least which is good enough for Eddie, he can take things a week at a time right now. After Eddie’s checkup, barring any surprise infection, although his wounds look like they’re healing well, Richie will drive them to Bangor where they’ll trade in his rental car for something more comfortable for a longer drive. Then they’ll drive four hours to New Castle, New Hampshire because when Richie had been looking at the map he’d found a place called ‘Wentworth by the Sea’ near Portsmouth. Next they'll spend a night in Hartford, Connecticut before going to New York. He feels bad that he can’t drive, if he could then they could make it to New York City in one day, comfortably, if they could switch drivers, but he’s not in a particular hurry; yes, he wants to get the divorce officially underway, but at the same time being in the same city as Myra fills him with anxiety so he’s fine taking it slow. Richie suggested they stay in Greenwich Village which Eddie readily agreed to because he hasn’t spent much time there and because it’s far enough from his house and Myra’s work that they’re unlikely to run into her. After that they’ll meet Mike in Boston. It feels good to have a plan.

Eddie has rarely gone on vacations in his adult life but every single one of them has made him restless; as soon as the itinerary is set he wants to go, go, go, get it over with so Myra can get her pictures and they can judge the cleanliness of the restaurants and hotels they visit, so Eddie can get back to work, back to numbers and beers with coworkers he only likes because they keep him out of the house. He’s looking forward to this though, a leisurely drive with Richie to a little New England island safely across the border of Maine. Richie suggested they get lobster rolls and watch the sunset over the marina from the balcony and Eddie thinks that sounds perfect. When he can shut the idea of running into Myra out of his mind Eddie even likes the idea of Richie in Greenwich Village, Richie in New York City with him - not well enough to consider staying long term. 

He’s still listening to the podcast when his phone dings with a text from Beverly, just to him, not the group chat. ‘ _I hope your ex makes things easy on you. Tom is trying to make things as difficult as possible.'_ Eddie frowns at his phone and before he can answer he gets another one. ‘ _I had to get an emergency restraining order.’_ Eddie’s fingers hover over the keyboard, his mind racing with worry and indecision until his finger makes the decision for him and pushes the ‘call’ button. 

“Hey Eds,” Beverly says, a familiar forced lightness in her voice. 

“Hey,” he says and Richie looks up from the laptop. Eddie points at his phone and mouths ‘Beverly’ and Richie nods. “I hope it’s ok that I called. I hate texting, it’s impossible to tell someone’s tone. Not that there was any ambiguity in what you texted, that’s fucking awful I just...Are you ok? I thought he got arrested.” He peels himself off the couch and heads to the balcony, closing the door behind him and sitting on one of the chairs. It’s pleasantly warm from the sun.

“We’re ok. The fucker made bail. Fucking court system. Ben is keeping me sane. He’s...He’s just really _good_ , you know? He’s a fucking godsend.” 

“He’s a great guy,” Eddie agrees. “Always has been. Did something happen?” 

Beverly sighs. “It’s a lot to get into. What matters is we’re safe and I’m not just divorcing him.” Her voice shakes slightly but Eddie can’t tell if it’s with anger or sadness. “That was my original plan, when I left, but I can’t let him get away with it, I can’t let him get away with how he treated me for years. _He fucking attacked Kay_. I can’t let him get away with it.” 

“Good for you, Bev,” Eddie says, trying to keep his breathing even. Beverly is so brave, has always been so brave. “Is Kay alright?”

“Yeah,” Beverly says, her voice wavering. “She’s so tough. I...She tried so many times to help me but I always...I couldn’t do it, Eddie. I couldn't leave. And then he...I can’t believe she’s not mad at me, it’s my fault, if I hadn’t -”

“Bev,” Eddie cuts her off. “It’s not your fault.” 

“I wasn’t expecting so much support,” she continues. “So many people from our office have agreed to provide testimony about how he treated me. Everything they saw. It’s easy to document, I still have...My old assistant. She quit because she couldn’t handle seeing all the fucking bruises on me. She’s going to talk to the police. Even though she was scared of him. That’s better than what I was going to do. I was ready to leave and never talk about it again, just pretend it didn’t happen even though he could just go do it to someone else. But Kay. It’s so hard, Eds,” she says, her voice breaking. “I wasn’t going to do anything. It’s fucking embarrassing, how many people knew and I just pretended it wasn’t happening. How did I put up with it for so many years? What’s wrong with me? It’s my fucking fault he attacked Kay, if I’d had the backbone to leave him sooner...To charge him with assault, he wouldn’t have had the chance to get his fucking hands on her.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Eddie says. “You’re strong and brave, Beverly. It’s not your fault. His terrible actions don’t reflect badly on you. You were _always_ strong. It’s just...It’s just so easy to stay where you’re comfortable. It’s predictable. Fucking _twisted_ but safe, in it’s own way.” 

“Yeah,” she breathes. “I figured you would get it. I know it’s different but...maybe not that different.” 

“She never hit me,” Eddie says quietly. “I didn’t have it that bad.” 

“Eddie...emotional abuse is still abuse. Even if she didn’t hit you. Would...Would you have stayed? If she hit you?” 

He almost drops his phone he starts shaking so badly. His fingers convulse, patting his pocket for an inhaler that isn’t there. He hasn’t felt like he needed it this badly, not since he was in the sewer. “Yes,” he breathes out, his throat constricting. He needs air. He’s outside, there’s so much air but he can’t get it in his lungs. “I would have.” He remembers the brief tug on his throat when Myra had grabbed the back of his shirt, his shirt collar pressing against his windpipe as he reached for the door knob, her last ditch effort to stop him from walking out the door. 

“Will you take a deep breath with me, honey?” Beverly asks, her voice shaky. She takes an exaggerated breath and lets it out, loud into the phone and then another. Eddie breathes with her until the attack stops. He feels sweaty but it’s not that hot out. “I’m sorry I asked,” she says eventually. “I shouldn’t have gone there.” 

“It’s ok.” Eddie swallows down his embarrassment, still feeling shaky. “It just shocked me. I never thought about it before but, fuck...I would have stayed, Bev.” 

“We’re out now,” she says. “We’re safe and we’re going to be fucking happy with our good, sweet boyfriends.” 

“Speak for yourself, Richie isn’t _sweet_ ,” Eddie says, already starting to feel better. 

“No? He strikes me as a secret sweetheart.” 

“He is,” Eddie sighs, glancing behind him to see if Richie is eavesdropping but he’s not. Of course he’s not, Richie wouldn’t do that to him. “He’s really fucking amazing. I didn’t imagine it would be this _good_.” 

“Me neither,” Beverly says and he can hear the smile in her voice. “I’m happy for you guys. Ben is too.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “I’m happy for you guys too. I know things are hard but I’m glad Ben is there for you. We are too, ok? If you need anything let us know. Say the word and we’ll come visit if you want some more company.” 

“Thanks Eddie. I think I’m going to be pretty busy. Ben is doing a good job at distracting me.” 

“I bet he is.” 

“Not like that,” she laughs. “Well, like that too but I meant we’ve been planning things. We’re renting a boat tomorrow and sailing on Lake Michigan, since it looks like Florida will have to wait.”

“That sounds fun. Send pictures.” 

“I will. What about you guys? What are you up to?” 

Eddie fills her in on the plan, feeling lighter. It was a scary realization he had but Beverly is right, they’re out now and they’re safe. When he gets off the phone with her he goes inside and slides onto Richie’s lap, cups his cheeks, his stubble rough against Eddie’s palms, and kisses him until his heart is filled back up, Richie’s arms wrapped around him. He’s never felt safer.

* * *

“Is there anything you want to do before we leave?” Richie asks, their last day in Derry rapidly approaching. “Because I don’t ever want to come the fuck back here.” 

Eddie has had time to think it over so he grabs Richie’s hand for support and says “can we drive by my old house?” 

“Ok,” Richie says, his eyebrows shooting up. “Are we going to knock on the door and ask to go in? Because that’s creepy as fuck, they’ll probably call the cops.” 

“No,” Eddie huffs. “We can park outside, I just...I want some closure.” 

“From the house?” Richie asks and Eddie’s instinct is to get defensive but Richie doesn’t seem like he’s teasing, he seems like he’s genuinely trying to understand. 

“From my mom,” Eddie says. It feels stupid when he articulates it but he feels compelled to do it.

“Wouldn’t something like her grave be better?” 

“I don’t want to go there,” Eddie says, suppressing a shiver. He hates graveyards, all those dead bodies under his feet. Rotting away in the dark. It makes him want to gag, it fills him with fear. “She didn’t live there, there’s no memories of her in the fucking cemetery.” 

“Ok, Eds, I was just checking. I thought maybe we could go there and yell at her gravestone and kiss and I could dance on her grave, try to get her to roll over because I’m getting my gay germs all over you.” 

Eddie’s breath catches, he feels like he just got zapped with an electric current. “I won’t stop you from dancing on her grave if you really want to. She’s buried in Queens,” he says, hoping Richie doesn’t notice that his voice is a little off.

“Wouldn’t that be a great paparazzi shot?” Richie grins at him. “Me dancing on a grave? It would really add to those mental breakdown rumors.”

“Your dancing is so bad it would _cause_ mental breakdowns.” 

“Thanks Eds,” Richie says wryly. 

“Hey,” Eddie clears his throat, his mind unable to unlatch from ‘getting my gay germs all over you’ and now he has to know. They really should have talked about it sooner. Fuck his heart is pounding. “Speaking of your ‘gay germs’...never mind, this is awkward. Forget it.” 

“What?” Richie asks. “Are you worried I’m going to give you something?” 

“I…” Eddie blinks at him, shame making him avoid Richie’s eyes. “No but, it’s a fair question, isn't it? When’s the last time you got tested?” He’s expecting Richie to pull his hand away, to get up and yell and tell Eddie he’s being fucking stupid but he doesn’t - his fingers do spasm a little though and Eddie looks at him then, at his wide worried eyes. 

“It’s been...a really fucking long time, Eds.” He sighs, looking away from Eddie. “That’s uh...That’s probably not good. I just...I haven’t had any symptoms of anything but...I should check. I’ll check. Fuck, I’m sorry I haven’t. That must freak you out, right? Me passing something onto you.” He laughs nervously and it breaks Eddie’s heart a little. 

“No,” he says, his voice gentle. “I’m not freaked out about it. It’s just an important thing, right? It’s not like...You haven’t been going around having unprotected sex, have you?” 

“No,” Richie says quickly. “You gotta wrap that shit up. I...I haven’t always used condoms for blowjobs though, I just didn’t fucking know it was a thing in college. The first time I saw a box of flavored condoms my mind was fucking blown.” 

“That guy at the gym...I didn’t use one either but I got tested after.” It makes his stomach twist, he was so fucking stupid, they hadn’t talked about anything just one second they were looking at each other and then he was pushing Eddie against the wall and kissing him, dropping down to remove Eddie’s towel and take him in his mouth but Eddie hadn’t said ‘no’ hadn’t even thought of protection because he had so much pent up sexual frustration and it had felt good. Safety wasn’t on his mind at all. “Do you want me to get tested again?”

Richie gives him a look. “I’m not making you get tested. You don’t have a fucking STD.” 

“I could still do it with you,” Eddie says. It makes him feel jittery with nerves thinking about it but he knows it shouldn’t, it’s important and it’s a stupid thing to have so much stigma around. “Solidarity.” 

“If you really want to.” Richie gives him a half-smile. “Fuck, now I’m freaking out. What if I _do_ have something? Jesus what if I have...” Eddie can tell what he’s thinking from the fear in his eyes.

“You’ve been careful, you probably don’t have anything. And if you did...modern medicine is amazing. It’d be ok, Rich. I’d still love you. I’d still...I’d still be with you.” 

“Fuck,” Richie says, taking his hand away so he can lean forward, remove his glasses, his head in his hands. “ _Fuck_.” He takes a shaky breath and Eddie knows he’s trying not to cry, he can see him tremble with effort as he tries to fold into himself. 

“I meant it,” Eddie says, wrapping his arm around him, resting his cheek on Richie’s broad shoulder. His heart is pounding but he tries to calm himself. “You’d do the same, right? If I had AIDS. You’d still stick with me, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Richie whispers. “Of course I would, I fucking love you Eddie. But...Jesus. You were always so...I wouldn’t make you,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I wouldn’t make you fucking stay with me.” 

It makes Eddie’s throat painfully tight, thinking of Richie suffering, wasting away, but that’s not how things are anymore, he knows that. “You wouldn’t have to,” Eddie insists. “I love you. I want to be with you, Rich. No matter what.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Richie says. “You’d be too fucking scared of getting infected. _I’d_ be too scared of infecting you.” It takes a few moments for Eddie to gather his thoughts, fight off the panic trying to rise in his chest, listening to Richie’s ragged breathing.

“I would be scared,” he admits. “But I’d get the fuck over it, Rich. It’s...People can live full happy lives nowadays, it’s not the fucking eighties, even...leprosy and syphilis and all that shit I was scared of as a kid. It was fucking _irrational_ , I know that now, I was just...My mom put so much fucking fear in me, I couldn’t fight it then but I’m an adult now, I know better now. I...Stan helped me work through it. We grew up in a time when being gay was synonymous with being _sick_ , with fucking AIDS but that’s not true anymore. It was _never_ fucking true. I’m not scared of it anymore, ok? I’m done. That bullshit should have died with Reagan.” 

“Ok,” Richie nods after a moment, his breathing getting less ragged. “Fuck,” he laughs shakily, wipes his eyes and turns to look at Eddie, eyes still watery. “I love you so fucking much Eddie. So much. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much. You’re so fucking brave. _I love you_.” 

“I love you too, Rich,” Eddie says, his throat tight. “Don’t fucking say ‘ _that’s bullshit’_ when I tell you how I feel though, that’s a real dick thing to do.” 

“Sorry,” Richie says, rubbing Eddie’s leg, giving Eddie a tentative smile. “Sometimes I gotta live up to the name. That’s me, Dick Tozier.” 

“I still love you. Dick. Now come here,” Eddie says, pulling him closer, breathing him in. He’s never going to get sick of touching him, of feeling Richie’s solid warmth against him “Can I kiss you?” Richie nods, leaning in for a soft press of lips. Eddie can feel Richie’s lip tremble against his. “I’m sorry I freaked you out.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Richie says, resting his forehead against Eddie’s neck. Eddie strokes his hair. “You’re right, it’s important. I’ve...Fuck. I’ve exclusively had casual hookups. It was fucking stupid to not get tested regularly. There’s no excuse.” 

“We’ll get tested together and it’ll be fine.” Eddie runs his hand through Richie’s hair. It’s getting longer. “We can do it at the hospital tomorrow, if you want. Or we can wait for New York.” 

“Let’s get it over with,” Richie sighs.

Eddie’s appointment goes well. He’s not expecting it so soon but the nurse removes the stitches on his shoulder. Without the sturdy material he’s nervous he’s going to bust open but he doesn’t. He looks at it in the bathroom after, the scar is surprisingly smooth - he expected it to be much worse. He can feel it when he runs his fingers over it but it doesn’t look too raised. Without the dark stitches it doesn’t look as dramatic; it’s just a little bit of raised skin, the color different than the rest of his shoulder but it’s not really bad, just different. For some reason he hadn’t thought about the stitches being gone, they’d felt permanent somehow but he feels better looking in the mirror at the scar - proof he can mend, hold himself together. 

He feels like he should have brought a card or flowers or something because these people saved his life but they would probably just tell him it was their job. It makes Eddie feel bad about _his_ job because what value does his job have? None. Richie makes people laugh for a living, even when it wasn’t his jokes, and that’s beautiful because life is hard and dark and making people forget that for even a second is incredible. Same with Bill, even when he’s scaring people he’s providing them with entertainment, an outlet, a safe space to _feel_ \- isn’t that what appeals to people about things like horror and rollercoasters? You can put down the book, stop the movie, step away from the rollercoaster and you’re _safe_. Beverly designs clothes and Eddie’s never really expressed himself in that way because it scared him, what people would say or think about him if he wore what he liked, but that’s beautiful too; Beverly helps people express themselves, feel good, put their best foot forward. Ben is an artist and he creates jobs for the people who build his designs. People work and live in Ben’s buildings, real people living out their dreams in something Ben designed. And Mike, Mike is a fucking hero both personally and professionally because libraries are vital even though it’s been years since Eddie set foot in a library for a book, he’s still glad they exist for all the knowledge hungry souls in the world, for all the little Ben’s whose best friends were books.

“I’m going to quit my job,” he tells Richie as they walk back out to the car, bandages on both of their arms from where they had blood drawn. “I don’t know what I’m going to do but it’ll be better than working for a soulless corporation.” 

“I fully support your decision, Eds, and not because I still don’t understand your job,” Richie says, hands in his pockets. Eddie wishes he could hold Richie’s hand. “I could always hire you. You could be my personal assistant. Working for a soulless comedian is better than a soulless corporation, right?”

“You’re not _soulless_ , Rich, but I’m not working for you. I’ll bring you coffee for free, you don’t need to pay me.”

He calls his boss when they’re back at the apartment, Richie downstairs in the building’s laundry room. He gets straight to the point because he knows Phil is busy and is probably already upset with him for disappearing so suddenly. 

“You’re sure?” Phil asks. “You were in some kind of accident, weren’t you? If you need more time off you can take your sabbatical now. You’re way overdue for one, bro.” 

“Yeah, I was in an accident,” he says. It’s so tempting to take the sabbatical offer because he would still have insurance taken care of and a paycheck for a little longer. “Look, I’ve got to make some life changes. I want to travel and...I’m moving to California.”

There’s a moment of silence before Phil speaks again. “You know your wife called the office earlier this week and told my secretary you were having a midlife crisis.” Phil sounds amused. Eddie is fucking mortified. 

“What the fuck?! Sorry,” Eddie says quickly because he tries not to swear in front of his boss even though plenty of other people do it. Why would she do that? In case Eddie called to quit? He clenches his fist. This is the strongest it’s been since the hospital. “It’s not true. I’m not having a fucking midlife crisis. Fuck, sorry.” 

“It’s ok, Edward,” Phil laughs. Eddie has always liked him, even though he was sure to give Phil the proper professional distance that a boss and employee should have between them. Phil is only a few years older than Eddie and he’s always been laid back, always had faith that Eddie would get his work done on time without nagging him about it. “California is great, you’re going to love it. The sunshine will do you good. Get all that Vitamin D you’ve been missing out on.” 

“Um…” Shit, does he _know_? Eddie swallows. “Thank you.”

“Your wife’s not going with you, is she?”

“Fuck no. Sorry. No, I’m divorcing her.” He’s never shared something that personal with anyone at work but screw it, he’s probably never going to see any of them again. That makes him a little sad, some of them weren’t that bad - he doesn’t know if he would choose to spend time with them though, outside of using them to spend less time at home.

“Good for you, dude.” He sounds genuinely happy for him and Eddie wonders who else in the office dislikes his wife and never told him. She was a temp at the company when they met but Eddie has been promoted since then so his coworkers wouldn’t have worked with her; she’s worked in HR at a different company for years. They always went to the office holiday party together though and he can’t deny Myra knows how to make a quick and strong first impression. “In that case…I shouldn’t be saying this but take the fucking sabbatical, Edward. And your vacation. You deserve it, dude.”

“I can’t do that,” Eddie says, his heartbeat picking up. Is this a trap? Some kind of moral test that if he fails he’ll never find gainful employment again? “It would be wrong.” 

“Says who?” Phil asks, voice quiet and serious. “It’s not going to hurt the company, it’s fucking huge. People do it all the time, bro, and they didn’t earn it like you did. You’re my hardest working employee and taking what’s owed to you isn’t going to change the glowing letter of recommendation I write you. Take it Edward.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, hoping he didn’t just make a huge mistake. “Do you want me to do any work remotely? I have my laptop.” 

“Don’t worry about it, bro. We’ve already got Demetrios filling in for you and he’s good. He’ll be happy when it turns full time. Just take your time off and have some fucking fun and hey, if you’re ever back in town with anyone special, someone who maybe has a sold out show, maybe you could send a ticket to your old boss.” 

Eddie suppresses a groan. Of course, he should have seen this coming. The only reason he watched Richie’s standup was because the guys in his office liked it - of course some of them would follow Richie on Twitter. “It’s going to be really different,” he says, his face hot. “Because he’s writing it himself. It’ll be funnier though.” He’s going to have to tell Richie about this. He wonders if he’ll put it in his routine. 

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

Mike comes by that evening for one last Derry dinner, taking home the leftovers. It fills Eddie with guilt and sadness, leaving Mike alone in Derry again, however temporary. He doesn’t seem concerned though, he seems happy, excited in a way Eddie hasn’t seen from him since they were younger, excitement like when he and Richie would exchange cassette tapes in the barrens, talking animatedly about music Eddie wasn’t allowed to listen to. 

“This is wild,” Mike grins at them, standing by the door. “The next time I see you we’ll be in Boston.” 

“I’ve never seen someone so happy to go to fucking _Boston_ ,” Richie says but he’s grinning too. “If you make us take pictures at the giant metal bean, I swear. Don’t embarrass us with your small town hokeyness, Eds and I are cultured city-folk.” 

“That’s in Chicago, dumbass. You’ve been to Chicago, how do you not know that?” Eddie says to Richie. Honestly, does he say shit like that on purpose to get a rise out of him?

“I’m not a fucking tour guide,” Richie says. “I don’t need to know geography, that’s your job.”

“Don’t listen to him Mike, Richie wouldn’t know culture if it bit him on the ass.” 

“Is that what we’re calling you now? _Culture_.”

“I’ve never had my mouth anywhere near your fucking ass,” Eddie says quickly, his cheeks heating up.

“I can’t wait to be stuck in a car with you guys,” Mike says, not at all unfondly. 

When they hug goodbye Eddie has a hard time letting go.

Eddie feels a little sad as they pull away from the apartment; he’s grown attached to it, a lot of important things happened there but he’s ready to get out of Derry. He’s wearing one of his own shirts, a light green polo, and he feels good about it - he figured out this morning that if he doubles over and lets his left arm dangle he can work the material up his arm to his shoulder without having to lift his arm over his head to get it on. It’s his first day off the painkillers and his shoulder doesn’t hurt that bad, it’s just sore and he’d be lying if it wasn’t a relief to be off of them because he knows how addictive they are long term. When he came out of the bathroom wearing his own shirt, tossing Richie the button-up he didn’t need anymore, Richie hadn’t asked him about it, just smiled. “Green means go. It’s a good color on you,” he’d said, and then kissed Eddie deeply.

It’s mid-morning on a weekday and the street is mostly deserted when Richie pulls up outside Eddie’s childhood home. They could go closer if they wanted but this is close enough for Eddie - he’s perfectly content to stay in the car where he can hold Richie’s hand. The house has been repainted, light blue, and Eddie would think it’s a nice color on any other house but he stares at it with a sinking feeling in his gut. The front door is the same. 

“Did you want to say a few words?” Richie asks, giving Eddie’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says but he can’t seem to form words. It feels surreal to be here, to be here holding hands with Richie Tozier, a fading love bite on his neck. He feels overwhelmed, thinking about everything that went on in that house. There was a time he thought he’d never escape those walls but here he is on the outside, perfectly fine even though the walls followed him for years, even though the walls weren’t always physical. He’s on the outside now and that’s all that matters.

“Do you want me to start?” Richie asks and Eddie nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Ok.” Richie clears his throat. “Hey Mrs. K, it’s been a while. It’s me, Richie, that kid who was always hanging around your son who you hated. I just wanted to stop by and say, fuck you. Fuck you for trying to smother your son. Fuck you for trying to stuff him in a cage. Fuck you for filling him with fear and fuck you for taking him away from me because I fucking love him for who he is - a fierce little shit who doesn’t know the meaning of obedient or delicate or anything else you tried to force him to be. Fuck you for being a shitty mother, but Eddie is fine Mrs. K, he’s strong and resilient, he’s the toughest motherfucker I know and he doesn’t need you anymore.” 

Eddie has to wipe his eyes, take a moment to collect himself before he can speak, clinging to Richie’s hand. 

“Hey ma,” he says, taking a few steadying breaths. “I just wanted to say...there’s nothing wrong with me. You tried so hard to make me think I was sick, that there was something wrong with me, but you were wrong. I’m fine. I’m healthy. I know you were afraid and I know you thought everything you did for me was out of love but you were wrong, ma. I didn’t need your protection, I needed your love. You told me all the time you loved me but...Fuck.” He has to fish out one of the tissues he’d folded and stashed in his pocket before he can go on. “You didn’t even know me, ma. You had this idea of what I _should_ be but you never fucking saw who I _was_. You made me so fucking scared to be myself sometimes I forgot who I was. It was wrong. You should have...You should have supported me. You should have let me grow and make mistakes and become my own person instead of smothering me. You tried to keep me helpless so I’d have to rely on you. You used guilt to control me. It was wrong, I didn’t deserve that. I tried. I tried so fucking hard to be a good son, I tried to make you happy and proud but. _Fuck_. It meant I couldn’t be me, I couldn’t have friends or my own fucking life or you’d make me feel like shit. It was...You fucked me up. You abused me but...I’m not going to let guilt and fear control me anymore. Richie was right, I don’t need you anymore. I grew up to be the one thing you were most afraid of - I’m fucking brave and I’m not going to forget it this time.” 

“Fuck yeah, Eds,” Richie says, smiling at him with watery eyes. “You fuckin’ told her.” 

“Also I’m gay,” Eddie adds. “And I’m going to have the gayest sex ever with my boyfriend and nothing bad is going to happen.”

“God I love it when you tell your dead mom we’re gonna fuck, it gets me all hot. You want to break in and do it in her old room?” Richie smiles at him playfully.

“No,” Eddie laughs.

“Your old room? A lot of my adolescent sexual fantasies took place in your room.”

“We’re not breaking and entering to have sex in my old house.” He tries to look serious but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. 

“Ok fine, it’ll be a solo-mission.” Richie’s grin turns mischievous and he makes to unbuckle his seatbelt but Eddie grabs his wrist. 

“Let’s go, asshole. You can’t buy me a lobster roll if you’re in jail.” 

“What makes you think I’d go to jail? I literally got away with murder in this town.” 

Eddie squeezes his hand. He knows Richie talked to his lawyer last night to check in before he left Maine and he knows the lawyer told him he was in the clear but he can tell it’s still weighing on him.

“You good?” Richie asks. “Feeling better? Closure-ed?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I feel better. Thanks, Rich. You really helped.” 

“It was no trouble, my love. I always wanted to tell her that shit.” He gives Eddie’s hand one more squeeze before restarting the car. “Now lets get the fuck out of here.” 

Eddie feels amazing as they drive away, leaving Derry behind them. Richie flips off the ‘Welcome to Derry’ sign in the rearview mirror and Eddie joins in, laughing. They listen to Richie’s music, the windows rolled down the entire way to Bangor, Eddie singing along when a song comes on he actually knows. It feels strange to be in Bangor again. The last time Eddie was here he’d just gotten off the plane, his memories still fuzzy except the overwhelming feelings from remembering his friends, remembering Richie. He feels that way a lot of the time when he looks at Richie, even staring at his back while Richie exchanges the rental car and Eddie sits there with their bags. He can’t help staring at him, the broad set of his shoulders, his long legs and thinking _holy shit that’s Richie Tozier. I love that guy_. 

The interstate is mostly empty as they speed past trees and fields. This car is more comfortable than Richie’s last one. It reminds Eddie of his car, the one in an impound lot because Eddie hadn’t been able to stick around to deal with getting it in for repairs - he should deal with that when they get to New York. 

Eddie always hated this drive because it meant boring weekends with his aunts, missing out on time with his friends. The last time he was on this stretch of interstate was when his mom decided they were moving and he’d cried most of the drive to New York, even after he forgot why he was crying. This time it’s different. He reaches over and squeezes Richie’s leg, gives him a smile when Richie glances over to him. This time he’s driving toward something worthwhile.

They stop in Portland for lunch, at a Denny’s that Richie spotted from the freeway, of all places. Eddie has never been inside a Denny’s but it’s not bad inside - not tacky or dirty like he’s assumed it would be by it’s reputation. 

“I thought you were a man of culture,” Eddie teases over his laminated menu with giant pictures. “You can’t order a Philly cheesesteak from a Denny’s in Maine.” 

“Well don’t tell Philly,” Richie winks. “Are we going to Philly?” 

“I don’t know.” Eddie sets his menu down. He’s been seriously lacking vegetables lately, he’s ordering a salad and he’s going to make Richie eat some of it. “If Mike wants to go.” 

“How long do you want to be on the road with Mike? Because it seems like this might be a new thing for him. Mike’s rolling stone phase.” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again. “Until I get sick of sitting in a car and sleeping in motels.” 

“Have you ever even been in a motel, Eddie my love? Some of them are gross.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “Will you put your fucking menu down so she comes over? I can rough it.” 

“You would think a motel is roughing it.” Richie says, setting his menu down. 

“This trip…It’s not about staying in the best places, Rich. It’s about having fun. Having new experiences. My life is fucking boring, I don’t do shit. I want to _do shit_. With you and Mike. As much as I can anyway, like this. Don’t look like that, I meant while I’m still recovering. I’m fine, Rich.” They made it a habit to walk to Bassey Park every day so Eddie could strengthen his legs but it hasn’t been easy. He refuses to let it discourage him, he’ll get there. In a couple months he’ll be running again, feeling the burn in his perfectly healthy lungs.

“Yeah,” Richie says, giving Eddie a half-smile. He looks around, must decide that no one is paying attention because he reaches over the table. Eddie takes his hand. “You’re fine alright,” Richie winks at him again and Eddie rolls his eyes again but it makes him happy like it does every time Richie compliments him. 

“The doctor said I need more exercise, no, shut up, not like that.” He blushes when Richie raises his eyebrows suggestively. “But I don’t know how much energy I’m going to have for sightseeing. You guys can always leave me in the car or on a bench or something if I get tired.” 

“I wouldn’t leave you, Eds. Not unless there was something really cool I wanted to see.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie says sarcastically. 

“Hey...I have to know,” Richie says, caressing Eddie’s hand with his thumb. “Is this a date? Our first date?” 

“Do you want our first date to be at a Denny’s?” Eddie asks. “I had to wipe syrup off my menu.” 

“I don’t care where our first date is, love. I’d take you wherever you want. I was just wondering.” 

Eddie has to think it over, feeling warm all over. Honestly Eddie agrees, he’d go anywhere with Richie and consider it a good date. “It’s not our first date.” Eddie squeezes Richie’s hand. “Our first date was the kissing bridge.”

“Oh.” Richie looks surprised but his face breaks into a warm smile. 

“This can be a date if you want it to be but we’re going to be eating out a lot, not a word, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know if we can count every meal a date.” 

“Why not?” Richie asks. “We have so much dating to catch up on.” 

The waitress comes over then and they let go of each other. If she saw she doesn’t show that she cares at all. They order, a cheesesteak for Richie and a Cobb salad for Eddie. 

“Ok then,” Eddie says when she’s gone. “It’s a date.” He feels his cheeks warming. He hasn’t done a lot of dating - he dated Myra for a while and then decided he might as well marry her because that’s what people did when they’d been regularly having dinner with each other and holding hands and kissing sometimes, but after their marriage he found he stopped thinking about their time together as dates. He’ll have to figure out what dating means for him and Richie but it’s something to look forward to. 

It’s only an hour more to their hotel and Eddie naps for most of the ride. He wakes up in time to say a “kiss my ass Maine” with Richie as they cross the Piscataqua River into New Hampshire. Richie follows the GPS directions off the highway and suddenly they’re in a nice area with fancy houses and he gets nervous as they pass a _country club_ because maybe Richie went overboard on the hotel - it’s huge and looks fancy when it comes into view, so white against the blue sky. 

“Calm down Eds, it’s just a Mariott,” Richie says when Eddie brings it up and he relaxes. He’s accepted that it’s ok to let Richie pay for things like this because Myra would throw a fit about Eddie paying for things like hotels with his new boyfriend from their joint accounts but that doesn’t mean he wants Richie spoiling him. 

Eddie takes a picture of Richie before they go in, Richie grinning and gesturing to the _Wentworth by the Sea_ sign. Richie hasn’t mentioned his parents yet but Eddie thinks it’s sweet that he wanted to stay here because it shares a name with his father. 

The woman checking them in doesn’t give them a second look when she asks “one king with a view of the marina?” in a tone that is clearly conveying ‘I’m just doing my job by confirming your room’ and not ‘I’m disgusted by two men sharing a bed and I’m judging you’ and Eddie hadn’t realized how nervous he was about it until it’s over and they’re walking to their room. He grins at Richie as they wait for the elevator and Richie grins back. 

The room is clean and fairly standard except the nice view of the boats in the marina, sunlight glimmering on the water. Eddie sheds his shoes and immediately stretches out on the bed. It’s comfortable. He feels a little guilty for how tired he feels when they haven’t done anything but sit in the car. 

“Where do your parents live?” Eddie asks when Richie joins him.

“My dad died a few years ago,” Richie tells him.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Rich, I didn’t know.” Eddie didn’t spend a ton of time at the Tozier residence but he remembers Wentworth Tozier being a fun-loving, goofy man who always slipped Eddie a secret lollipop after his teeth cleanings with a wink. After one appointment where he’d told Eddie he brushed too hard he’d handed him a new extra-soft toothbrush and smiled kindly, told him ‘you have strong teeth, Eddie, but be more gentle with yourself’ and it had inexplicably made him tear up a little.

“Yeah, fuck cancer."

“Fuck cancer,” Eddie agrees - cancer took his own father when he was only five. He barely remembers the man but the lifelong fear of the disease has left a big enough impression on his life, made sure he never forgot the idea of the man even if he didn’t get a chance to know him. Sometimes Eddie used to imagine what his father would say if he was alive, fantasize about someone there to stick up for him, to say ‘now dear, I think you’re being a bit unreasonable. Eddie should be allowed out with his friends, it’s a nice summer day and he’s a young lad, go on son, you go have fun.’ He wonders if Frank Kaspbrak had a backbone or if he let Sonia walk all over him like Eddie did.

”They moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan before he died,” Richie says, looking at his phone. “I don’t know why they moved to fucking _Michigan_ , they were looking at retiring to Florida. My mom still likes it though. Last I heard she was in a book club, played pinochle every week, and volunteered at the botanical garden. She’s out there living her best old lady life. Unless she moved but she probably would have told me.” 

“You don’t visit?” Eddie asks, rolling to his side so he can look at Richie, rest his hand on Richie’s bicep because he wants to and he can.

“I don’t remember the last time I saw her. Maybe at the funeral. She calls sometimes but she’s a busy lady, that Maggie Tozier. She learned how to text, look at this,” Richie shows Eddie his text history with his mother, a long string of ‘happy new year’, ‘happy birthday’, ‘merry Christmas’ - just a series of impersonal holiday greetings with nothing in between. “We usually talk on her birthday and mother’s day.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says. It feels sad but at the same time Richie never seemed particularly close to his mother. Eddie remembers standing in the Tozier’s kitchen once, a cold glass of lemonade in his hand while Richie ranted about something, probably whatever comic they’d just finished reading, Mrs. Tozier turning to Eddie with a baffled look on her face, asking him ‘you understood all that? I never know what he’s talking about,’ like Richie wasn’t standing right there in front of her. He watches as Richie sends the picture, breaks up the monotony.

“I used to visit for the holidays, when they lived in California. But it was too weird,” Richie says, setting his phone down on his chest. “They were always asking about my non-existent girlfriends or trying to set me up with their friend’s daughters. Maybe I should have told them but...I don’t know how they would take it. If this thing at Ben’s place in _Anaconda_ works out it’ll be my first Christmas in years. I always just watch movies and drink by myself. That sounds pathetic but whatever. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic.” 

“You’re not pathetic,” Eddie says, moving closer. “You were lonely.”

“Yeah, fuck,” Richie says, his voice rough. He turns to look at Eddie, glasses askew from pressing against the pillow, his eyes roaming over Eddie’s face. “Even if it’s just the two of us it’ll be the best Christmas ever, right Eds?”

“The best,” Eddie agrees, leaning in for a kiss. It’s gentle, how most of their kisses start but they’re both leaning into it when Richie’s phone rings and Eddie pulls away so Richie can check it. 

“Oh shit,” Richie says, looking at Eddie with wide eyes. “It’s my mom. What do I do?” 

“Answer it?” Eddie raises his eyebrow. “You texted her.”

“Ok. Yeah,” Richie says, staring at his phone before sliding his finger to answer. “Uh, hey.” He sits up, turning to give Eddie a strained smile and a thumbs up. Eddie gives him a thumbs up too, trying not to laugh at the weird look on Richie’s face. “New Hampshire,” he says. “I thought it was funny. There’s a Wentworth Road too, and a country club and a marina. Small world, huh?...Yeah. I uh, I was in Maine for a little bit. Back in Derry. Yeah,” Richie laughs awkwardly. “I know. I hadn’t thought of Derry in forever. Uh huh...It’s uh, pretty much the same. Not much has changed. There’s a Chinese restaurant now, and a mall.....Oh, you saw that?” He turns to Eddie again and he can see the panic in his face. “Yeah, I’m fine, it just...I got some bad news before I went onstage. One of my friends from Derry, he...he died.” Eddie sits up so he can rub Richie’s back lightly, just so he knows Eddie is here for him. “It was Stan. I don’t know if you remember him...It’s ok, it was a long time ago...You don’t have Alzheimer's, I forgot too but it all came flooding back...How are you, mom?” Richie asks, listening to the reply, making noises and comments. He seems to relax when he’s not talking about himself. Eddie can tell Richie’s mother asked him something again when his shoulders tense up.

“I um. I’m taking a little break but I’m going to start writing my own material...I know...I’m with one of my old friends. Eddie Kaspbrak. We’re going on a road trip with Mike Hanlon...Speak for yourself _old lady_ , there’s no age limit on road tripping.” Richie chuckles before listening for a long moment. “Oh,” his voice goes quiet and Eddie has a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You heard about that too? Jeez mom, I’m starting to think you might be a fan…” He tries to make his voice sound light and joking but there’s too much tension in it. “It’s true, yeah. I um...I’m gay. Surprise? Eddie...he’s my boyfriend, actually.” A rush of warmth spreads through him as well as a need to protect Richie in case his mother doesn’t react well. “It was fake. I never had a girlfriend, it was...It was just for my routine.” Eddie can see Richie’s face fall more as he tries to swallow. He wishes he could hear what Richie’s mother was saying. “...That’s...Things are different now, mom…..Ok, you too...bye.” Richie sighs, letting his phone drop to the bed. 

“You ok, Rich?” Eddie asks, wrapping an arm around him. 

“I think so?” Richie laughs hollowly. “That was fucking weird. I guess it could have been worse but shit.” 

“What did she say?”

“About me coming out? She said she didn’t understand why I needed to do it because back in her day if someone wanted to live a _homosexual lifestyle_ they did it quietly. She said it would negatively impact my career.” 

“Jesus,” Eddie says. 

“It could have been worse,” Richie repeats. “She didn’t say she hated me or she never wanted to talk to me again. Not that we ever really talk. She still said she loves me but that’s reflexive, right? That’s just a thing parents say when they’re hanging up. Fuck, does she have a Google alert on me? Who the fuck showed her how to do that, Mike? She saw those pictures I posted. She said I should keep that kind of thing private.” Richie rests a hand on Eddie’s leg and gives it a squeeze, his eyes watery. “I’m not gonna do that Eds. I’m gonna show the whole fucking world that I love you.” 

“I love you too, Rich,” Eddie says, the fierce affection he feels for Richie making his chest ache. “It sounds like she’s worried about you,” he says carefully, mindful, as the king of complicated relationships with his mother, that maybe Richie doesn’t see it that way. “Give her some time. She’ll come around.”

“Yeah, maybe. And then she just fucking ‘well I have to go now’ escaped the conversation. I never thought about coming out specifically to her when I tweeted those things, which is fucking weird because I was ok coming out to the world but _my mom_ ? Why didn’t she call me when she saw? She waited for me to call her. Maybe in typical Tozier fashion she was just going to pretend it didn’t happen, I don’t know. God, that was weird. This is going in my new routine. I wonder how my dad would have taken it. Fuck I hated it when he used to talk about ‘ _sexy ladies_ ’ on TV. ‘You should audition for _Baywatch_ , Rich, there’s a lot of lookers on that show, maybe one of them will give you mouth-to-mouth,’ shit like that. Fuck do you remember _Baywatch_? All those shirtless hunks. Sorry dad, I didn’t even notice Pamela Anderson had boobs until someone pointed it out, I was too distracted. Fuck this is some good shit, I can use this.” 

“I’m glad you got some material out of it,” Eddie says, pressing a kiss to Richie’s shoulder. “Don’t forget your exact words: ‘ _I’m gay. Surprise_?’” Eddie chuckles a little. “If you want to talk about it more I’m here.” 

“I’m good, Eds. I’m fine. Let’s just take our pants off and watch TV and then order some lobster rolls for dinner. That’s all I need right now.” 

Eddie can’t think of anything better than that. 

They leave behind the ocean air and head in-land to their next stop. Eddie has a harder time in the car this leg of the trip. He feels restless as he stares at the scenery passing by, rows of trees and distant towns. He leans his seat back and tries to relax. He wishes he could drive, he enjoys driving, when he’s not surrounded by idiots sending him into a road rage spiral. Richie entertains him by testing out some voices, his Boston accent when they hit the Massachusetts’ border is surprisingly good. It’s impressive how much Richie’s voices have improved, it fills him with affection but it also makes him a little sad - he wishes he’d been able to see Richie’s progress through the years. 

He’s never been to Hartford before but he immediately feels more comfortable as the city comes into view from the interstate - _finally, a real fucking city_ , he thinks, staring at the tall buildings. He didn’t realize he felt so strongly about it but seeing so many people around, so many signs of life, fills him with relief. If he screamed someone would hear. It’s irrational, he knows the people of Derry didn’t have a choice to respond or not when they were in danger but he remembers Ben telling them about the car driving by as Henry Bowers carved into him and he remembers thinking that it was like they were living in a ghost town, just the seven of them that summer, the only real people. Or maybe they were the ghosts, the outliers who didn’t belong. 

Eddie loves the hotel; it’s old and almost surrounded by high rise buildings and he loves the contrast of old and new, the bright red-orange of the building next to the grey and glass. The blue sign outside says it’s The Goodwin and Richie tries to make a joke about it being a good win. “Nothing?” he asks when Eddie doesn’t laugh. 

“They can’t all be winners,” Eddie says but he has to agree this place is a good-win when Richie lets them into their room. The room is big and clean and nicely decorated and it must do something for him because the next thing he knows he’s straddling Richie’s lap on the blue velvet couch and kissing him, his hands tangled in Richie’s hair. 

“I knew you liked it,” Richie says, sounding out of breath. “I’m so hilarious you can’t keep your hands off me.” He shuts up after Eddie bites his bottom lip.

When they’re sated they walk to a park nearby and to Eddie’s immense surprise and pleasure Richie holds his hand. It’s not long before Eddie needs to take a break and sit on a bench but he feels good, smiling brightly when Richie pulls out his phone to take a selfie of them. The sky is clear blue and the weather is comfortably warm but it could be pouring rain and he’d be happy to sit there with Richie’s arm around him. He takes a picture of an interesting sculpture and sends it to Ben, hoping he’ll like it - he does, or says he does, maybe he’s just being polite, it’s hard to tell with Ben. 

Eddie has mixed feelings when Richie drives them over the Hudson Bridge into Manhattan - on one hand, the hand Richie is holding, he’s excited to get his divorce papers filed and move on with his life but the whole process sounds long and exhausting. He turned off notifications from Myra when he activated his new phone but he looked last night, in case she'd changed her mind about the divorce and she hasn’t. She’s messaged him at least once a day to tell him to come home, that she forgives him, that he’s a terrible person for putting her through this. It feels surreal to be driving down the length of Manhattan, the Hudson to their side, holding hands with Richie but he doesn’t know how else he would be able to get through this. 

The apartment is simple and nice, a third floor walkup close enough to Washington Square Park that Eddie can see the trees. It’s small, the narrow kitchen looks especially claustrophobic with Richie standing there checking the amenities but it seems clean and comfortable enough and free because Richie’s manager set them up with it. Steve has a lot more to do to make it up to Richie, in Eddie’s opinion, but this is a tiny start.

First he calls the towing company that took his car, fishing the business card out of his wallet - he’s cleaned it three times since the sewer but he should just replace it, he doesn’t think it’ll ever be clean again. He can’t explain why it feels so important to get his car fixed as soon as possible, it just is and he doesn’t question it as he arranges to have it sent to his mechanic. The damage had seemed minimal but he’d rather be safe than find something actually got messed up beyond the dent. He considers calling his lawyer to set up a meeting but he doesn’t have anything he needs for it and he’s hit by an adrenaline rush as he looks at the time. 

“Hey,” Eddie sits up straighter on the couch. He feels shaky with nerves but energized. “Myra should be at work right now, let’s get this fucking over with and just go now.” Eddie had originally decided they’d go tomorrow so he’d have more time to mentally prepare but fuck it, why stress about it overnight when it could just be done? It’s impulsive, he knows that but now that it’s in his head he just wants it over with.

“You sure she’s at work Eds?” Richie asks. “What if she’s lurking around the house waiting for you to come back?” 

“I could call…” Eddie says, his heart jumping into his throat. It would be the easiest way. “But depending on who answered they’d tell her I called.” Not all of her coworkers would necessarily recognize his voice but Myra would probably assume it was him, who else would be calling to see if she was there? And then she’d probably put it together and rush home and Eddie really doesn’t want to see her again if he can help it unless they’re sitting in his lawyer’s office. “Her car will be gone. If it’s not we won’t go in. Come on, let’s get it over with.” 

“Alright,” Richie says, springing up from the couch and heading to the door. “I’ll be your getaway driver. Should we work out a signal? If I see her coming I’ll just scream.”

“I um...I was hoping you’d come in with me,” Eddie says, following Richie out the door and down the stairs, hand holding onto the railing - he really should have put his hand sanitizer in his pocket. 

“Sure thing, Eds,” Richie says after a moment. “I’ll be your bodyguard then.” 

“I was thinking you could just be my boyfriend,” Eddie says. “And carry all the shit I can’t.” 

“I can do that,” Richie says, voice serious. He waits on the landing for Eddie before he continues down to the next floor, his hands in his pockets. “Wait, should I go empty out one of your suitcases?” 

“No, there’s not that much to take,” Eddie says, continuing down the stairs with determination. 

He loses some of the determination the closer they get to the house and when Richie turns onto the street and he sees the rows of small houses crammed together his fingers are twitching, wanting to close around an asthma inhaler he doesn’t need or have anymore. 

“It's up here, the yellow one,” Eddie says. Myra’s car isn’t in the narrow parking space. Eddie always let her park there, not minding that he had to find street parking. Sometimes he would just drive around the block mindlessly, feeling numb, not wanting to go home. Sometimes he fantasized about just driving past, getting on the highway and not looking back but he had nowhere to go, even in his fantasies. He takes a few deep breaths as Richie parks. Maybe they should come back tomorrow. 

“You ok, Eds?” Richie turns off the car but doesn’t take off his seatbelt until Eddie does. 

“I’m fine.” That’s a lie, he doesn’t feel fine but he will when this is over so he’s going to go full steam ahead until he’s on the other side because he’s stood still too much of his damn life. Or at least that’s how he feels until he’s standing at his front door, key in hand. The overwhelming feeling he has staring at the door shouldn’t surprise him, he felt the same thing staring at his childhood home the day before yesterday and yet it shakes him, how similar it feels. It feels like a trap, like once he’s inside the door will slam shut and he won’t be able to get out. He feels so small, standing in front of the door - just like he did every time he came back to live with his mother.

“Fuck this, it’s my house too,” he growls, shoving the key in the lock and storming in like he’s ready for a fight. To his immense relief there’s no one to fight. 

Richie follows him in, hands in his pockets and Eddie is focused, he has a mission, but he can see Richie looking around. He marches upstairs, stomping on every step because he can and it makes him feel better, propelling him forward. He goes to the tiny office first, the one Myra had hoped would be a nursery - a thought that made him so violently ill he couldn’t come in here for months without feeling sick to his stomach even after they’d put in a desk. He finds the folders he needs in the filing cabinet, the ones labelled ‘Important Documents’ and ‘Finances.’ He removes Myra’s social security card, birth certificate, and passport but takes his and their marriage certificate as well as their financial records. Now he’s prepared for the worst case scenario where Myra refuses to sign an agreement and he doesn’t have to worry about ordering copies of important documents for himself. He feels better having the files tucked under his arm as he heads to the bedroom, ignoring the familiar tug of anxiety that always greets him when he walks over the threshold. 

He doesn’t look around, allowing his tunnel vision to lead him to open the closet and start removing suits, just his favorite ones. He likes suits, he feels good in them, more confident. He likes the way they look on him too. They’re going to get wrinkled but he can press them before he wears them again, he likes that chore, it’s almost meditative but Myra always insists on doing it for him so he’s only ever done it in hotels, standing there in his underwear watching ESPN and feeling more relaxed than he should. 

“Rich?” he calls out. “Can you come here?” He’s still pulling things out and laying them on the bed, moving onto his jackets, when Richie comes into the room, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, a frown on his face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, staring at his shoes. 

“Are you ok?” Eddie stops in his tracks. 

“I’m great, Eds,” Richie says, the sadness in his voice undercutting the sarcasm. “I was just downstairs looking at your family photos.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say. There are pictures everywhere, Myra loves hanging up photos of them, both together and with her family, a gallery of Eddie’s forced smiles that he always avoided looking at. There’s a framed wedding photo on the dresser next to Richie and Eddie watches him look at it before his eyes flicker back to Eddie. 

“I was miserable,” Eddie says quietly. “In all of them. If that helps. Especially my wedding day I...That was one of the worst days of my life.” He almost used an entire inhaler that day. He told Myra he was just nervous because he didn’t like being the center of attention and she’d smiled back reassuringly and told him everyone would be looking at her dress. It was a nice dress and he hadn’t lied when he told her she was pretty in it; he’d saved all his lies that day for standing at the altar. Everything had been nice, the napkins, the decorations, the bouquets, the dinner. He had four glasses of wine at the reception to get through it, grateful Myra was too tired and nervous to consummate their marriage that night at the hotel. It had only put off the inevitable but he’d still been grateful for the extra time to prepare himself. 

“It’s just hard, Eds,” Richie says, voice quiet, still trying to fold himself up. It’s wrong, Eddie likes when he’s lively, loud and boisterous. It hurts to see him make himself so small. “You lived here, for years. Married to her.” 

“I know,” Eddie says, sighs because he doesn’t know how to make it better. “I’m almost done and then we can get the fuck out of here, ok?” He waits for Richie to nod before he returns to the closet, pulls his gym bag out and starts carefully putting his shoes in it. He doesn’t put effort into his casual clothes but he loves shoes, he allowed himself that form of expression at least. It’ll feel good to have them back, to finally change out of his running shoes. When he’s got the bag packed with his shoes, running clothes, and the folders he turns back to Richie. He hasn’t moved. “Hey, can you get the suits and jackets?”

He watches Richie’s face twist into a grimace as his gaze drifts to the bed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. 

“Fuck, are you going to throw up?” Eddie asks, feeling suddenly panicky. Richie shakes his head, his eyes wide, but then nods. “Across the hall,” he says quickly, pointing Richie in the direction of the bathroom. “ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie curses under his breath, listening to the bang of the toilet seat and the painful sound of retching. 

He sits down on the bed, his legs feeling weak, staring at the bathroom door. He’s a monumental asshole. It was stupid and selfish for him to have brought Richie here, he knows how hard it is for Richie knowing that Eddie is married - he’d even ignored Richie’s not-so-subtle suggestion that he stay in the car. He feels helpless and overwhelmed and he can’t stop his eyes from watering. It was wrong to drag Richie here; he should have done it by himself, even if he had to carry everything out individually because he can’t lift that much weight yet. His stomach twists when he hears the toilet flush and the sink running. It takes a minute for Richie to open the door but then he’s standing there, face pale, tall and broad and out of place because everything Eddie feels when he’s with Richie is the opposite of what he’s felt in this house.

“Sorry, Rich,” Eddie says quietly, wiping his eyes. “I shouldn’t have made you come in.” 

“I wouldn’t make you do this alone,” Richie says, voice strained. “Sorry I’m a fucking useless partner.” 

“You’re not,” Eddie insists, his chest aching. He wishes Richie would come sit with him but he can’t ask him that, to sit on the bed he shared with Myra. 

“I am,” Richie says, voice raising shakily. “I should be,” he waves his hands around vaguely and it cheers Eddie up a little, seeing him come back into himself a bit. “I should be supporting you but Jesus...I…” He lets out a shaky breath, still standing in the doorway, his eyes watery and pained. “I can’t stand it,” he says quietly. “The thought of everything you went through here. You...Jesus Christ Eddie, you had... _non-consensual sex_ on that bed, right fucking there. I...” Richie looks like he might throw up again but he holds it together, Eddie can see his throat working to swallow.

“It wasn’t like that,” Eddie says, feeling nauseous. “She didn’t know. You can’t hold that against her, it’s my fucking fault, it was my decision and...it’s been a long fucking time since we last...” 

“ _Eddie_ ,” Richie says, his voice breaking. “It wasn’t your fault. You...Fuck. That’s traumatic shit and I’m being a pussy. I’m fucking making it about _me,_ just like…” 

“You’re not,” Eddie says, his voice stronger. He hauls himself off the bed to go to Richie, wrap his arms around him and press his face into his shoulder. “You’re nothing like my mom, or Myra. You’re not making it about yourself, you’re showing fucking _empathy_ , asshole. There’s a big fucking difference.”

“Well it feels shitty,” Richie says, wrapping his arms around Eddie too, pulling him close. “I was supposed to be the one comforting you.” 

“Says who? You’re allowed to have your own fucking feelings, Rich. It’s true I wanted you here for moral support but it was selfish of me.”

“You’re not selfish, you’re the least fucking selfish person I know. After Mike. He’s a goddamn Olympic gold medalist of selflessness, but you’re silver. Or bronze, Ben might be silver,” Richie says, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s temple. 

“Thanks, Rich.” Eddie breathes out a small laugh. “I really fucking appreciate you being here.” 

“Even after I freaked out and threw up in your pristine bathroom?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says. “It’s not my bathroom anymore though. After we leave I’m never coming back.” 

“Yeah,” Richie says, his grip on Eddie tightening a little too much, it hurts Eddie’s shoulder but it feels good too, being pressed against him this close, it keeps him in his body instead of letting his thoughts carry him away again. “Now my feelings are telling me we should get the fuck out of here. You got everything?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, reluctant to pull away. “You don’t have to touch the stuff on the bed, I can make a few trips.” 

“I’ve got it, love,” Richie says, pulling away and wiping his eyes. Eddie wipes his too as Richie takes a couple long strides and picks up the suits and jackets by the hangers like it’s nothing. 

Eddie picks up the duffel bag and looks around. He doesn’t want to linger. Anything he forgets is replaceable anyway, he tells himself. There’s nothing here that really means anything to him. Eddie finds himself staring a moment longer at Richie. He looks like he could be a model in that pose, hand on his shoulder as he grips the hangers slung over his back, black t-shirt stretched across his chest, long legs clad in dark jeans - a scruffy model but still, it does something to Eddie, it’s the most desire he’s ever felt in this room. 

Richie follows him down the stairs and almost out the door to freedom except the stack of mail on the entryway table catches Eddie’s eye. There’s an envelope with Eddie’s name on it, a letter. Eddie never receives letters and his throat instantly tightens when he sees the sender’s last name. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Stan.” 

“Oh shit,” Richie says behind him as Eddie grabs it.

“That fucking bitch,” he spits out before he can stop himself. The envelope is _open_. Myra opened Stan’s letter and read it. Richie makes a noise of outrage when he sees. He feels shaky with fury, this was private, intended only for Eddie and she fucking read it. He holds the letter gently, mindful to not crush it while he fumes as he leads Richie out of the house. He almost leaves the door unlocked as a _fuck you, Myra_ but if someone went in and trashed it, stole her stuff, she would blame him for it so he shoves the key in the lock for the last time and drops it in the mail slot next to the door. He kicks the door for good measure, cursing under his breath.

Richie doesn’t say anything, just walks with him to the rental car, Eddie limping slightly because his toes hurt. 

“Do you want me to hang these on the hook?” he asks when they reach the car.

“I don’t care,” Eddie says, trying not to sound annoyed because it’s not Richie’s fault. “They’re going to get wrinkled no matter what, it doesn’t matter.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, still holding Stan’s letter. It feels weird, he talked to Stan but he wrote this before his death, before he saved Eddie’s life, when he thought this would be his last chance to communicate with any of them. He gets in the car, unsure if he should read it now while Richie puts Eddie’s things in the trunk. Eddie set the letter on his lap. This isn’t the right time or place. 

Richie starts the car without a word, Eddie watches as he struggles to get the key in the ignition his hand is shaking so badly. 

“Rich,” Eddie says softly, reaching over to touch his leg. “Take a deep breath.” 

Richie does it, hands on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the car parked in front of them but Eddie doesn’t know if he’s even seeing it. There’s no way Richie should be driving like this. 

“Turn off the car,” Eddie says gently, rubbing Richie’s leg. 

“No,” Richie says quickly, turning to look at him. He still has a shell shocked look in his eyes. “I don’t want to be here.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, thinking through their options. “Then let’s go for a walk. I have somewhere I want to take you.” 

“No,” Richie repeats, shaking his head, taking another deep breath. “I’m fucking done with...What street are we on?” 

“Thirty-third Avenue,” Eddie says automatically. 

“Fuck Thirty-third Avenue, we’re not coming back. Add it to the list of shit to burn.” He pauses, making an effort to calm himself down before turning back to Eddie, a pained look in his eyes. “What if she comes back and sees us walking back to the fucking car?” Richie asks, gesturing to the time. It is almost time for Myra to get off work but she’ll be stuck in traffic, he doesn’t tell Richie that though, he understands.

“Fine,” Eddie says evenly. “We’ll drive.” 

“Where are you taking me, Eds?” Richie asks, taking another deep breath as he shifts the car out of park. 

“A diner,” Eddie says. “I used to go there when I wanted to get out of the house for a while.” He has fond memories of the diner. When he would get too frustrated with Myra and was sore from the gym he always went to the vintage diner a couple blocks away, leaving his phone behind even though Myra always got upset that he ‘forgot’ it - bringing along a newspaper or a book of crosswords to distract himself. “Myra’s never been there,” he says to reassure Richie. “She said it looked like a dive when I pointed it out.” 

“Usually people frequent dive bars, not dive _diners_ ,” Richie says. “It’s cute that you have a dive diner Eds.” 

“It’s not a _dive_ ,” Eddie insists. “It’s retro. Turn right up here.” 

Richie follows Eddie’s directions, it’s really embarrassingly close to drive but Eddie agrees - he’s done with the street he lived on too, he’s relieved he doesn’t have to look at his old house again. 

“Ok fine,” Richie agrees as he pulls into the parking lot. “It’s retro. Fucking hipster.”

“I’m not a hipster, you’re the one with the _quirky_ shirts and the glasses,” Eddie says. “There’s a grocery store over there we can pick up some stuff after,” he points across the parking lot. “We won’t run into Myra,” he assures Richie again. “She only goes on Saturdays.” Eddie had always found their routines monotonous even as he took comfort in the familiarity but for the first time he’s thankful for them because he knows exactly what Myra will do today. 

They’re seated at a booth and Eddie watches Richie’s eyes wander around, unable to hide the fondness that must be written on his face as he watches Richie. Richie already looks more relaxed. 

“I take it back, you’re not a hipster, you’re an old man. This is the blandest diner I’ve ever seen. It's...sterile. I guess that’s why you like it,” Richie says, opening his menu. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie asks, opening his too. 

“What I said, it’s boring. It’s supposed to be retro, where’s the personality? The kitsch?”

“What the fuck is a kitsch?” Eddie asks, insulted on behalf of the good people of the Bel-Aire diner.

“ _A kitsch_?” Richie repeats, laughing and Eddie’s annoyance disappears. “It’s like...an art style? Or décor. I can’t believe you made me use that word.” Richie snort-laughs. “I don’t know, people throw it around a lot in California. If this place was there it’d be covered in weird vintage art and...dogs playing poker and shit like that.” 

“You fucking hipster,” Eddie counters, trying to make his tone serious but he’s failing. “Going to _quirky_ California diners in your quirky shirts with tacky art.”

“This is the weirdest fucking diner menu I’ve ever seen,” Richie says, ignoring him, eyes focused. “Breakfast and fucking meatloaf _and_ chicken cordon bleu _and_ stirfry? And _fajitas_? Pick a theme.” 

“Stop judging my place of refuge or I’ll judge yours,” Eddie says. “It’s a good fucking menu, you can get anything.”

“You know, sometimes you sound a lot like a New Yorker,” Richie says absentmindedly, still flipping through the menu. 

“I _am_ a New Yorker. I’ve lived in Queens most of my life,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, I guess you are,” Richie says sounding like he’s just had a revelation. He looks up at Eddie. “You sure about it, Eds? Leaving New York?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says quickly. “There’s shit I’m going to miss but...You know. I want a fresh start.” _I don’t ever want to run into Myra_ , he doesn’t say that because Richie knows. It’s a big city but Eddie still wants out, wants an entire coast to himself and Richie. “You can show me California. As a Californian.” 

“Shit, I am a Californian. It feels weird now. Since I remembered growing up in fucking _Maine_. Who the fuck is from Maine? No one.” 

“It is weird,” Eddie agrees. Even when he didn’t remember Derry or anything that happened there he knew his birth certificate said he was born in Maine and he knew he must have spent most of his childhood there but he never considered himself _from_ Maine, even now. “They don’t have egg creams out there do they? On the West Coast.” He remembers one of the West Coast transplants at the office being baffled the first time someone brought it up.

“What the fuck is an egg cream? Like, a Cadbury creme egg?” Richie looks up at him, tilting his head slightly and it’s sickeningly cute. 

“No, it’s a drink. It’s milk and soda water and syrup,” Eddie says. “Oh man, you have to get one, they’re fucking good.” 

“That sounds weird as fuck, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Richie says. “Holy shit Eds, they have shakes with _booze_ in them, fuck your carbonated milk, I know what I’m getting.” 

“Fine,” Eddie concedes. “But you have to try mine. You want vanilla or chocolate?” 

“Vanilla,” Richie says, still scanning the menu and Eddie feels a rush of love for him, remembering the time Eddie dropped his ice cream cone and Richie had shared his even while Eddie complained about his gross germs.

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says softly, nudging his foot under the table. Richie looks up at him, face open and relaxed and Eddie’s heartbeat picks up because holy shit he’s going to move to California and live with Richie and they’re going to spend the rest of their lives together. “I love you,” he says quietly and Richie’s face breaks into a boyish smile. 

“I love you too, Eds.” 

Richie doesn’t really appreciate the egg cream like Eddie does but Eddie forgives him because that means there’s more for him. He does like his pork chops and Eddie’s chicken marsala though so at least not all of his taste buds are wrong.

They pick up groceries after and Eddie feels ridiculously happy walking around the store with Richie, raiding the deli section for pre-made food so Richie doesn’t have to cook too much in the tiny kitchen, debating the best cereal, dropping a box of condoms into the basket, determined not to feel embarrassed about it. They both received their clean bills of health before they left New Hampshire but there’s cleanliness to consider and Richie doesn’t comment on it, carrying the basket around the store with Eddie.

Eddie texts Myra in the car after he’s turned back on notifications from her, his mood improved, feeling brave after what he accomplished today already. He keeps it short: ‘ _I’m in town. Will be making an appointment with divorce lawyer. Will you come for mediation?’_ It will be much easier if she agrees but Eddie is ready for her to be obstinate about it. His first priority was to get what he needed to file the paperwork without her but now that he has it he feels bolder, ready to get this over with too. He doesn’t expect her to call him right away but he picks up, watching Richie’s hands clench around the wheel. 

“Eddie,” she says, voice angry, “this has gone on for long enough. You’re making a fool of yourself, just come home.” 

“No,” he says, trying to keep his voice firm and even but some of his anger leaks through. “This is happening with or without you so stop being so stubborn. I don’t know what part of ‘ _I’m gay_ ’ you don’t fucking understand.”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” she says, her favorite refrain when Eddie dares to talk back to her. “I should be the one divorcing _you_! You cheated on me!” 

It makes his head spin how quickly she always switches strategies when she’s not getting her way but he goes with it even as a pit opens in his stomach because she’s right. “That’s _great_ ,” he says. “If you want to be the one to file then do it, I don’t care. I just want a divorce. There’s no reason to draw this out. You can keep the house, do whatever you want with it, sell it, keep it, I don’t care. We can split everything else evenly.” 

“Why are you doing this to me?” she wails, making Eddie flinch away from his phone for a moment. 

“I. Am. _Gay_ ,” he repeats slowly. “That’s why I’m doing this to you. Seriously Myra, you walked in on me jerking off to gay porn, do you think that didn’t mean anything?” 

“You’re not _gay_ Eddie, we’ve made love. You’re just confused,” she says. “Just talk to the specialist I found for you.”

“No. Absolutely not,” he says. “We’ve talked about this. Now are you coming to mediation or not?” 

“Fine,” Myra snaps. “They’re going to agree with me anyway and then you’ll see.” 

It’s clear she has no idea what the purpose of divorce mediation is but he’ll take it. “Great,” he says. “I’ll make an appointment. Can someone cover for you or should I try to get one for after you’re off work?” 

“Someone will cover,” she says, still sounding snippy. “Everyone is upset that you’re doing this to me.” 

“Sure they are,” Eddie says, not giving any fucks at this point, Stan’s wrongfully opened letter still on his lap. She didn’t just invade his privacy, she invaded Stan’s privacy too and that’s unforgivable

“What is that supposed to mean, Eddie?” she yells at him. This is the most they’ve fought in years, he usually runs out of steam quickly and concedes or disappears for a few hours and comes back to apologize. 

“I’m calling the lawyer now,” he ignores her. “I’ll text you the time and place.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. 

Eddie calls his lawyer’s office to arrange a meeting while they’re still inching along in traffic and she has a cancellation so she can fit them in tomorrow. It’s incredibly lucky and he can’t help but think maybe it’s not luck - _thanks Stan_ , he thinks, staring at the letter on his lap. He texts Myra the details. Hopefully she shows up. 

“It’s tomorrow,” he says to Richie, leaning back in his seat and scrubbing his hand over his face. He still feels keyed up from the argument. 

“Awesome,” Richie says, sounding completely sincere. “What do you need from me? Do you want me to tag along?” 

Eddie has to mull it over. “I should go alone,” he says, nerves twisting his stomach, the fight immediately leaving him. “It’ll look bad if I bring you along. We don’t need Myra throwing a fit. More of a fit than she’s already going to throw. Maybe you can drop me off and pick me up.” 

“I can do that, Spaghett-erino.” Eddie huffs a laugh at the ridiculous nickname. “I can go shopping. I didn’t pack enough clothes and someone keeps stealing my shirts.” 

“They’re comfortable,” Eddie says, plucking at Richie’s diamond patterned button up. He can wear his own shirts now, they both know that but this morning Eddie hadn’t wanted one of his shirts, he’d wanted the simple comfort of Richie’s shirt for the drive to New York. 

“You know, I can buy you shirts,” Richie says, navigating through traffic like a pro. He seems relaxed, more relaxed than Eddie would be in the situation. People are honking all around them. He forgot that wasn’t normal. They’d driven in Hartford traffic and he hadn’t heard a single horn. 

“Why would you do that when I can just steal yours?” 

“I won’t stop you from stealing them. You look cute as fuck in my shirts.” Richie throws a grin at him and Eddie finds his cheeks heating up. “Unlike the asshole who bought them.” 

“None of that bullshit again, Rich,” Eddie sighs, staring at his profile, tracing the line of his jaw with his eyes the way he’d like to trace it with his lips. “You’re fucking hot, you’re just also fucking _blind_.” He watches Richie’s cheeks flush with a sense of pleasure. 

They don’t open Stan’s letter until they’re sitting on the couch, the sun sinking in the sky casting golden light through the gaps in buildings. The groceries have been put away, Eddie’s suits hung in the closet, and Eddie can’t wait any longer. He needs to know. 

“Are you ready?” Eddie asks Richie because Eddie keeps catching him with that distraught look on his face from earlier and he’s not sure if it’s because of the letter or everything that happened at Eddie’s old house. “You don’t have to read it, but I really want to know what it says.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Richie insists, his arm around Eddie as they sit on the couch. “When we talked...he gave me a heads up.” He doesn’t seem like he wants to elaborate so Eddie opens the letter, his hands surprisingly steady - maybe because he knows Stan is doing alright, or seems to be doing alright anyway, floating through space and dropping in on them in their dreams - watching out for them.

Eddie holds the letter in between them as they read it. He relives the gut-wrenching sadness he’d felt when he found out Stan took his own life, the anger he’d felt when Stan had told him his reasoning in person. He still disagrees and it hurts. There’s no rebuttal he can give, no argument he can make because it’s too late. Yes, Stan saved him but maybe things would have been different if Stan had been there, physically, maybe he would have figured it out sooner - he was always the smartest, the most rational, when he was armed with his book of birds. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t have been stabbed in the first place. Or maybe he would have anyway, maybe he would have died down there never having had a life worth living. He feels like a selfish monster then because he’s so grateful Stan was there to save him on the other side; if he hadn’t Eddie never would have gotten his second chance and Richie...Eddie tells himself that Richie would have recovered after mourning Eddie’s death but the thought of Richie being in pain, being alone, makes a choked sob escape his lips. Richie holds onto him, his breathing unsteady. The rest of the letter is like a punch to his soul, it resonates so powerfully with him.

 _Yes Stan, I fucking promise man, I won’t let you down_ , Eddie thinks loudly, hoping whatever cosmic waves Eddie doesn’t understand can carry the weight of Eddie’s promise to him.

“Well, fuck,” Richie sniffles beside him. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, setting the letter down next to him so he can fully turn into Richie’s embrace, breathe him in as much as he can, his entire body trembling with the force of his feelings. Richie’s chest is warm and solid against him, his arms wrapping around Eddie, one hand cradling the back of Eddie’s head. It feels amazing, being in Richie’s arms. He tries to press himself closer. He can feel Richie breathing against him, can feel his heartbeat where their chests touch. _Thank you Stan_ , Eddie thinks desperately, mouthing a sloppy kiss against Richie’s neck. He’s so fucking relieved to be alive, to be here in Richie’s arms it’s making him feel shaky with the desire for intimacy. “I love you,” Eddie breathes against Richie’s skin, kissing him again. “So fucking much, Rich.” He sucks gently at Richie’s neck, more interested in tasting him and feeling his pulse jumping against his lips than leaving a mark. 

“I love you too Eds,” Richie says back, holding him tight, his breathing strained. “I uh...I wasn’t expecting you to get all hot and bothered over Stan’s this-isn’t-a-suicide-note-suicide-note though.” 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, pulling back right away, his cheeks burning with shame. “I just...Fuck Rich. I’m so happy to be here. With you. I...I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” 

“Me too,” Richie says shakily, his hands roaming around Eddie’s back, down his sides like he’s reassuring himself that he’s all there. “Fuck Eds. This is the weirdest hard on I’ve ever had, I don’t know if I should cry or fuck you.” 

“Both,” Eddie says, trying to control his trembling. He feels hot but chilly at the same time, desperate to touch and be touched. “We can do both.” He presses a hungry kiss to Richie’s mouth, his heart pounding and then pounding even harder when he thinks about it, that he has a heartbeat at all. Richie kisses back, breathing heavily through his nose, his tongue plunging into Eddie’s mouth. They haven’t kissed like this before, heated and messy, and it’s making Eddie impossibly hard. 

“Are we actually doing this right now?” Richie asks when they break apart, his lips slick. 

“If you want to,” Eddie says, his hands fisted in Richie’s shirt. He wants to tear it off him, to feel their skin pressed together. “I want to feel close to you. In every fucking way.” 

“I want that too,” Richie says back quickly, eyes dazed. “However you want Eds.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says shakily. He wants Richie so fucking bad right now he doesn’t want to stop touching him but he pulls away to stand up. “Give me like fifteen minutes,” he says, almost giving into temptation and straddling Richie’s lap again when he looks up at Eddie full of wide eyed wonder. “Fifteen minutes, tops,” he says, heading to the bedroom.

He throws open his suitcase without the luggage tag and fishes out his bag of toys, grabbing the lube to take with him to the bathroom. He almost grabs a butt plug but decides against it, he doesn’t want that in him right now, he needs Richie. It shouldn’t feel sexy, everything he has to do to clean himself out but he still feels coiled with desire even in the shower, one leg propped up on the side, awkwardly holding the shower head in his left hand while his soapy right hand probes around inside him, his nails freshly trimmed, trying to get himself as clean as possible. When he’s sure he’s clean he steps out of the shower, dries himself off quickly before he uncaps the lube. He could have Richie do this, it would certainly be intimate but he’s already so turned on he doesn’t think he could handle it right now, Richie’s hand pressing inside him, so he does it himself, as quickly and efficiently as he can, and then he thoroughly washes his hands, his heart hammering. He didn’t bring in a change of clothes, it felt unnecessary given that he’s about to just take them off again so he walks into the bedroom, holding the towel around his waist, his erection making a tent against it, the lube clutched in his other hand. Richie is sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands between his knees, still dressed. 

“Jesus Eddie,” he breathes, eyes roaming over him. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding a fucking body like that under khakis and polos.” 

“I’m losing muscle,” he says, standing an arm’s length from Richie. “Since I haven’t been working out.” 

“You’re still a fucking twunk,” Richie says and Eddie tilts his head. _Twunk_? “A mix between a twink and a hunk. Because of the fucking muscle.” Richie is still looking him up and down, his knees shut tight, trapping his hands. Eddie thinks ‘twunk’ is a stupid word but there’s nothing stupid about the way Richie’s looking at him. It’s making him feel too aroused to be self conscious.

“What are you?” Eddie asks, taking a step closer, tossing the lube on the bed. 

“I don’t know,” Richie says, “Joe Schmoe? The fucking totally normal and forgettable type?”

“There’s nothing forgettable about you, Rich,” Eddie says, stepping closer so he can put his hands on Richie’s broad shoulders, run his hands over them, feeling their width, so much wider than Eddie’s. He hooks a finger in the collar of Richie’s t-shirt and traces the edge, feeling Richie’s chest hair tickle his skin. He tugs on the collar. “Take this off, will you? I’m standing here pretty much naked.” 

“Ok,” Richie mumbles, his hands hesitating on the edge of his shirt. “You sure you want the lights on?” 

“You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to,” Eddie says gently, rubbing his bare leg against Richie’s jean-clad leg. Richie huffs, pulling his shirt off. It’s the first time he’s had a good look at him shirtless. Richie has the habit of waiting until the lights are off before he takes his shirt off to sleep, of waiting until Eddie’s up and in the bathroom when they wake up at the same time so he can put a shirt on. “You’re fucking hot Rich,” he says, running his hands over his bare shoulders. He loves how hairy he is, the contrast between his skin and his dark hair. “It’s mind boggling that you don’t know that.” Richie doesn’t say anything, just looks up at him with those warm brown eyes and Eddie leans down to kiss him, stepping closer, one of Richie’s legs between his. He can feel the towel starting to come off. He considers straddling Richie’s leg but he might get a lube stain on Richie’s jeans.

Eddie takes a step back, his entire body feeling hot. He takes off the towel then, Richie’s eyes tracking the movement. They’ve seen each other hard before but not completely naked. He feels vulnerable, exposed, but the open look of adoration on Richie’s face makes him burn, leaving no space for embarrassment. He lays the towel in the middle of the bed and lays on it, on his side for now, because he’s not an inconsiderate asshole who’s going to get lube on someone else's bedspread. 

“Come here,” Eddie says softly, patting the bed next to him. Richie stands first and Eddie watches his back, the muscles moving as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, watches hungrily as he slides them off with his boxer-briefs, exposing the swell of his bare ass and legs. Eddie drinks him in, all of him, as he crawls across the bed to lay next to Eddie. 

“Can I touch you?” Richie asks, his voice quiet, tugging at Eddie’s heart.

“Of course,” Eddie says, his own hand going to stroke Richie’s side. “You don’t have to ask Rich.” 

“I just…” Richie breathes out, closing the gap between them and Eddie shudders a little, Richie’s body pressing against him, Eddie’s cock brushing against his bare skin. “I want to make sure you want this.” 

“I’ve never wanted something so fucking bad,” Eddie says, his throat suddenly tight. “Do you?” 

“Yes,” Richie assures him, stroking Eddie’s cheek, eyes on Eddie’s face. “Just know that I won’t touch you unless you want me too. And you can change your mind, it’s ok. If you want to stop. I won’t be mad. I just...I don’t ever want to fucking hurt you, Eddie my love.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, his voice raw. Fuck his eyes are watering. “Back at you,” he says, trying for levity and failing. 

“I love you,” Richie breathes against Eddie’s lips and Eddie mumbles it back, their kiss gentle. Eddie is crying but he doesn’t let it slow him down, pressing himself against Richie, deepening the kiss. Richie reaches between them, long fingers wrapping around Eddie’s leaking cock, lining it up with his own, hips moving slowly, the friction stealing Eddie’s breath, his hand spasming on Richie’s waist. They haven’t done this before and Eddie doesn’t know why because it feels amazing, Richie’s big hand wrapped around both of them. Eddie moves his hips too, tentatively, trying to get used to the mechanics of it. He’s getting dangerously close to finishing already, making embarrassing sounds into Richie’s mouth so he pulls away. 

“Can you,” Eddie starts and Richie immediately stops moving, his hand releasing Eddie’s throbbing cock, “get a condom?” he finishes and it takes Richie a moment of processing before he’s reaching over to the bedside table where they’d put the box, tearing it open and fumbling around to grab one. 

“You’re ready?” Richie asks before he opens the wrapper. Eddie can’t stop staring at his fingers - fingers shouldn’t be that sexy, what the fuck is wrong with him? 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, rolling onto his back. “I’m fucking ready, I’m gonna, _fuck_ ,” he hisses, sitting up and wincing. He tried to scoot himself up the bed further to get more comfortable but he dragged his shoulder across the bedspread, pain blossoming over the tender skin.

“Are you ok?” Richie asks, eyes wide, condom on the tip of his cock. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie says quickly. “Just scraped it a little. It’s not bleeding is it? It didn’t feel that bad but…” He twists his torso so Richie can look even though he’s sure he’d have to scrape it a hell of a lot harder to reopen it.

“Looks fine,” Richie says after a long moment of staring at it. 

“Sorry, I know it’s gross,” Eddie says, twisting away so Richie doesn’t have to look at it. There’s still bruising around the scar, an ugly, sickly yellow-green tone.

“It’s not gross,” Richie says and Eddie watches him unroll the condom over his length. “I mean,” he points at his very hard dick. 

“I don’t know, maybe you’re into some gross shit,” Eddie says. 

“I’m super fucking vanilla Eds, I hate to disappoint you. But uh...maybe you could be on top,” Richie swallows. “So you don’t get hurt.” 

“But I want to be close to you,” Eddie says. He wants to feel all of Richie pressed against him, their bodies aligned. “Wait,” he says, turning around to face the headboard, positioning one of the pillows so it’s flush against the wooden headboard. “Sit here,” Eddie pats the space and Richie moves into it, his back straight. Eddie grabs the lube, and squeezes some extra on Richie’s length, wiping his hand on the towel before he straddles Richie’s lap. “Is this good?” he asks, his face inches from Richie’s. 

“Yeah,” Richie breathes, his hands caressing Eddie’s waist. “This is good.” 

Eddie kisses him then, dipping his tongue in to taste him as he reaches between them, lowers himself to line himself up with Richie’s cock. It takes some effort to line it up but once he does he feels the rubbery head pressing against his entrance. He takes a few deep breaths to relax - he’s done this before, not with a person, but he’s been curious and horny enough to use his sex toys and he knows that relaxation is the key. It’s easy to relax with Richie, the head slipping past the sensitive ring of muscle with minimal resistance. Richie groans into his mouth loudly and it sends a tingle of pleasure down his spine. It feels amazing - different than anything he’s bought, Richie is all heat, the weight of his cock different inside of him, the warmth of his body against Eddie’s making it a totally different experience. He eases himself down slowly, stretching himself wider, his fingers spasming on Richie’s shoulders. 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes out, breaking away from the kiss and letting the back of his head hit the headboard. “I might not last that long,” he warns Eddie, his hands gripping Eddie’s hips. 

“That’s ok,” Eddie sighs, letting himself sink the rest of the way down. He’s never felt so _full_ before, it feels amazing. The look on Richie’s face makes him feel even better. Sexy isn’t a word Eddie would ever use to describe how he feels but in this moment, Richie’s half-lidded eyes on him, Eddie feels sexy.

“I want it to feel good for you,” Richie says, his hands stroking Eddie’s thighs, giving him goosebumps. 

“It does, Rich,” he says. “It’s already so fucking good.” He leans forward again to kiss him before testing out some movement. It feels good, the drag of Richie’s cock inside him, his legs getting their first real workout in weeks as he lifts himself up and down tentatively, trying to find his rhythm. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Richie murmurs, biting at his lip. “Jesus, how are you even real?” 

“I’m not,” Eddie starts to say but then he hits it, Richie’s cock pressing against his prostate and it turns into a moan. 

“You are,” Richie says, his breathing starting to pick up. “Fuck,” he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and Eddie stills. 

“Rich?”

“I’m fine,” he says but the pleasure is gone from his face. He’s grimacing. “It’s just...You died Eds. Fuck,” he says weakly. “I lost you. In the deadlights. And then…” 

“I’m here, Rich,” Eddie breathes, cupping Richie’s face, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs, his glasses magnifying the moisture on his dark eyelashes.

“I know,” Richie sighs, opening his eyes to stare at him. “It’s a fucking miracle.” 

“I know,” Eddie says, leaning forward for a gentle press of their lips. “Believe me, I fucking know.” He moves again, tentatively and Richie’s hips move with him, Eddie’s hands still cupping his face. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” Richie nods and Eddie can see his throat working to swallow. “You’re stuck with me,” Eddie says, his heartbeat picking up. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you. As long as you want me.” 

“Jesus Eddie,” Richie huffs, his hips rolling up easier now, the two of them working together, the friction driving Eddie mad with pleasure. “I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ll only ever want you, you beautiful, brave asshole.”

Eddie hits the spot again, his thighs starting to shake and Richie cups his ass, helping to guide him up and down. They fall silent then, their breathing and the slick sound of Richie fucking him the only noise, Eddie tangling his hands in Richie’s hair. He switches his grip to Richie’s shoulders for stability, Richie’s hips snapping up rhythmically, breathing fast. He looks fucking beautiful. Eddie’s so close, he can feel it building in him. 

“Can you touch me?” he asks, licking his lips, Richie wrapping a hand around Eddie’s cock, stroking him lazily. “Fuck,” he moans, his rhythm stuttering for a moment. Richie picks up the slack, his hips rolling up to thrust into Eddie, pleasure building low in his gut. Richie’s breath picks up too, his hips going faster as he gets closer and Eddie gives up moving, gripping Richie’s shoulders and letting Richie fuck him. Richie comes first with a shuddering breath, fucking into Eddie slowly as he orgasms, making Eddie’s toes curl under him, Richie’s eyes dazed and warm as he slows more, breathing heavily. Eddie seats himself fully on Richie’s cock, grinding into it, Richie’s hand working him faster, their lips joined as he finishes Eddie off. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s had in his life, he feels it through his entire body, groaning into Richie’s mouth as he spills over Richie’s hand and splashes onto Richie’s stomach. “Fuck,” he says shakily. “That was amazing, Rich. I’ve never come that hard. I felt it in my teeth.” Eddie doesn’t know how that’s possible but it feels true.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, stroking Eddie’s lower back, still looking dazed. Eddie nods but it turns into a headbutt, his forehead softly colliding with Richie’s. “Me too.”

They stay like that for a long moment, their foreheads pressed together, both coming back down, sharing one more soft lingering kiss, one more whispered “I love you,” before Eddie pulls himself off Richie slowly, his thighs shaking. 

“You ok?” Richie asks, leaning against the headboard like it’s all that’s keeping him up. 

“I’m good. Shower?” Eddie asks, careful to keep his ass off the bed as he makes his way to the edge. 

“Together?” Richie asks, wiping the mess on his stomach and hand off with the towel.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his feet on the ground, legs still trembling. Not even leg day at the gym has affected him this much but it’s been weeks since he got any real exercise. “Come on, ass-” And that’s when his left leg gives out and folds under him as he’s trying to walk to the bathroom, his knee slamming down on the wood floor. “Fuck!” 

“Shit, are you ok?” Richie asks and Eddie can hear him scrambling off the bed. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie says, his heart beating fast. Oh no.

“Fuck, hold on,” Richie says quickly, long legs striding past Eddie swiftly to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. He’s back in seconds, standing naked in the doorway, and Eddie loses it, laughing like a maniac, awkwardly kneeling on the floor. “What is it?” Richie asks. 

“I...You…” Eddie tries, his body heaving breathes through his laughter. “How the fuck... _Tomorrow_.”

" _Oh_ ,” Richie gasps and then he’s laughing too, standing there naked, his dick mostly soft now, still completely breathtaking as he laughs with Eddie. “Your...Fuck.” 

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna walk in there,” Eddie giggles, trying to get himself under control. “For a divorce...Walking like I just got railed in the ass.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie laughs, not sounding sorry at all but he approaches Eddie, hands outstretched. “Maybe we could have timed that better. Here.” 

“It was fucking perfect,” Eddie says, taking Richie’s hands and letting him help Eddie to his feet. “I wouldn’t change it.” He takes a few tentative steps toward the bathroom again. 

“Jesus Christ, Eds,” Richie laughs again, doubling over. “You’re walking like a fucking...baby deer. Fucking...doe eyes and doe legs.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie says but he’s laughing too. It’s an accurate description, he feels like he’s learning to walk again, his legs wobbly, trying to work out the right angle. He feels sore but he likes it, it’s the same sore he likes getting at the gym - the kind that reminds him there’s nothing wrong with his body. 

“Ok, Bambi,” Richie says, trying to suppress his laughter and failing. “Let’s get you in the shower.” 

Eddie walks into his lawyer’s office wearing a suit, his hair styled for the first time in weeks, trying his best to walk like normal and holding onto the monogrammed leather padfolio his boss got him the year he was Eddie’s secret Santa like it’s a life preserver. He’s glad he kept it in his laptop bag - it always made him feel like an organized, professional person who had their shit together which is exactly what he’s going for. He’s glad the building is heavily air conditioned because he might start sweating otherwise.

He’s early, sitting in the windowless lobby in Midtown with plastic plants, the pulse of the city outside matching his own. _Go go go._ He just wants this over with. Every time he hears the elevator _ding_ and open he feels shaky and sick to his stomach. It’s looking like this meeting might be wasted, like this might be the worst case scenario because it’s two minutes past the meeting time and Myra hasn’t showed up. A nicely dressed secretary calls him in and leads him to a fancy office with a window looking over the city. His lawyer stands up to shake his hand, which is most definitely sweaty but she doesn’t react, the sympathetic look on her kind face unrattled. She says to call her Faye and he tells her to call him Eddie and he already liked her over the phone but now he likes her more; she has an easy, open demeanor and her office is calmingly decorated, which must be deliberate but it doesn’t come off that way. The diplomas and certifications on the wall all belong to Faye Ngo, projecting a reassuring aura of _it’s ok, you’re in good, professional hands, Eddie._

“Sorry,” Eddie says, taking a seat in one of the nice armchairs across from her desk. “Myra isn’t here yet, she might be stuck in traffic...Or maybe she’s not coming. She’s probably not coming, she doesn’t want to get divorced,” he says in a rush. 

“Really?” she asks, sitting across from him, stacks of papers in front of her, pens lined up neatly. “When a client comes out their spouse is usually very willing to sign off.”

“Myra is...She doesn’t believe me,” he says, holding the padfolio to his chest like it’s a shield.

“Oh,” Faye says, her expression still neutral but Eddie can see something shift in her eyes. “Is that normal behavior from her?”

“Yes,” Eddie admits, struggling to swallow. “Do you have any water?” Faye nods and reaches under her desk, pulling out a chilled bottle of water and handing it to him. “Thanks,” he sighs, successfully opening it despite his sweaty palms. It makes him feel a little better. “She thinks I’m ‘ _confused,_ ’ she keeps bringing up fucking conversion therapy, shit, sorry for swearing.”

“That’s alright, nothing I haven’t heard before. Let me ask you, Eddie,” she says, looking at the clock on the wall. “If she is stuck in traffic and arrives late, what do you want from me? I can be a neutral party, help mediate and represent both of you in court or I could be in your corner and represent your interests.” 

“I…” Eddie sets the water bottle down between his feet so he doesn’t get a condensation stain on her nice desk. He subtly tries to wipe his palms on his pants. “I think I’d feel better if you were in my corner.” 

“Alright,” she smiles gently at him, looks down at her notes. “Now on the phone you said you wanted to split your assets in half except the house, you’d like to give up ownership of it, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Eddie says, patting the padfolio on his lap. “She can afford the mortgage payment on her own, I have the proof.” 

“In most cases the house will be sold and any profit will be split. Has your house appreciated since you bought it?” 

“Yes,” he sighs. “It’s fine though. I just...I just want out, I don’t care about the money.”

“Starting over can be expensive, maybe more expensive than you realize,” she says gently and he blushes. 

“I um...I’m with someone,” he admits. “I’m going to move in with him. In California. It’s new!” he insists and then realizes that sounds bad in a different way, moving across the country with someone he just met. “The romantic relationship is new,” he clarifies, wishing he could sink through the chair and onto the floor and dissolve. “We were...We were childhood friends. We lost touch but...We recently reconnected. And then I had a near-death experience and I just...I just want to stop living a lie. I want to be with him.” 

“That’s very sweet,” she smiles, no trace of judgment on her face. 

“He’s great,” Eddie says before he can stop himself. “He’s really supportive and generous. Terrible sense of humor for a comedian but he still makes me laugh and he’s surprisingly _kind_ for someone nicknamed Trashmouth when we were kids. Sorry,” he laughs at himself, the lightness in his chest when he started talking about Richie. “Should we...I don’t know, should we start on paperwork or wait for Myra?” 

“Let’s get started,” she smiles, patting the first stack of papers. 

It’s tedious, repetitive work and he only makes it through about a quarter of it before Faye’s secretary opens the door and Myra comes in. His chest immediately feels tight, his hand going into his pocket before he remembers he doesn’t have an inhaler. 

“Hello, you must be Myra,” Faye says, springing to her feet to shake Myra’s hand. 

“Mrs. Kaspbrak,” Myra says stiffly and Eddie refuses to look at her; he's incensed, the fucking nerve. He clenches his jaw. His chest still feels tight, and his throat. It’s objectively a good thing she’s here but he doesn’t want her to be. She sits in the chair next to Eddie and he hadn’t realized before how much space was between them but now he’s grateful. “Eddie -” 

“Hold that thought a moment,” Faye says, opening a drawer in her desk and pulling out a voice recorder. 

“What’s that for?” Myra asks. 

“It’s a voice recorder,” Faye says, setting it in the middle of her desk. “It’s our firm’s policy to use them for mediation, so there’s no confusion later over the agreement. Is that alright with you two?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says quickly. 

“Fine,” Myra agrees tersely. Eddie can see her clutching her purse on her lap out of the corner of his eye.

“Very good,” Faye says, saying her name, her credentials, followed by the date and time and Eddie and Myra’s names. “Now, what was it you wanted to say, Myra?” 

“ _Mrs. Kaspbrak_ ,” she insists. “I was going to say to my _husband_ , _Eddie,_ stop this nonsense and come home this is getting ridiculous.” 

“I want a divorce,” Eddie says, set on keeping to the minimal communication needed for this interaction. He doesn’t know how many more times they need to have this exact conversation before she accepts it. His stomach sinks because the answer is probably infinite - infinite conversations about Eddie wanting a divorce because she’s not going to give up, not ever, not until she gets her way. 

“You’re being selfish Eddie, why won’t you think about me for once? You’re breaking my heart. Do you want me to _die_? This kind of stress is bad for the heart, do you want me to die of _congestive heart failure_?” she asks, not sounding even a little heartbroken - she just sounds annoyed, like Eddie is insisting on watching baseball instead of handing her the remote.

“I’m gay,” he says, feeling numb. It’s a good strategy; he hadn’t intended on it but it will shield him from feeling guilt, although no amount of guilt is going to get him to go home with her. 

“You _aren’t_ , Eddie. You’re -”

“I am _not_ confused,” he says, fed up with the broken record act. Repeating something false doesn’t make it true - if it did then he wouldn’t be gay, he spent all his life telling himself he was straight despite all the evidence to the contrary. 

“I talked to a specialist who can help you Eddie, why won’t you be reasonable and just talk to him?” 

“I’m not going to gay conversion therapy, that’s...That’s torture Myra. It’s inhumane. Just let it go. I’m gay. I was gay when we met, I was gay when we got married, I just...I’m done repressing it. I want to be happy.” 

“We _were_ happy, Eddie. Before you ran off with that horrible, dirty man,” she says, making Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. 

He has to close his eyes. She sounds so much like his mother it disgusts him - what the fuck is wrong with him that he married her? He knew it was a terrible idea, he knew they were the same, that’s why he’d set their photos next to each other where he could stare at the both of them for weeks over his breakfast as he tried to talk himself out of it, out of embracing the fate he’d always knew to be true - that he would be stuck with his mother for eternity. It makes him worry for his sanity that he ever decided he was going to propose to her and actually went through with it.

“Leave Richie out of this,” he says. “He has nothing to do with this.” 

“That’s a lie Eddie. You left me for _him_. And then you got into an accident because I wasn’t there to protect you, Eddie! He can’t take care of you like I can, you need me!” she says, her voice wavering.

Eddie looks helplessly at Faye, her kind eyes on Eddie. She looks briefly at the recorder. “I can take care of myself,” he says and for the first time in his life it feels true. He can take care of himself. He’s here and he’s scared but he’s doing it, he’s standing up for himself, he’s doing what he wants to do, what he needs to do to be happy. Bravery isn’t not being scared, it’s what he can do in spite of being scared. “And that’s not what happened. You weren’t even there...My friend Mike called all of us because he needed us. I left before I even talked to Richie. I hadn’t talked to him for twenty-seven years.” 

“You’re lying, you cheated on me,” she insists. 

“Am I ‘not gay’ or did I cheat on you, Myra? It can’t be both.” Eddie says.

“Don’t take that tone with me, I’m your wife, Eddie. Tell him he’s being unreasonable,” she says to Faye, pleading. “You’re a married woman, won’t you help me make him see reason?” Eddie hadn’t even noticed her wedding ring but her hands are folded neatly on her desk and he can see it now. 

“Eddie is being reasonable,” Faye says easily. “After accepting his sexuality he did the rational thing and began the divorce process. It’s far more compassionate to end the marriage than carry on with it. He’s also being very generous with dividing your assets if you’d like to look at Eddie’s proposal.” 

“No,” Myra insists and Eddie still refuses to look at her but he can hear her sniffling, see her reach for the box of tissues on Faye’s desk in his peripheral vision. “Eddie you have to come home so we can forget about this. Everything can go back to normal.” 

“No,” Eddie says firmly. “It won’t change the fact that I’m gay. I...I deserve to be happy.” 

“ _Eddie-bear_ ,” she whines and his jaw clenches angrily. She knows he hates that so why would she keep saying it? “You are happy, you’ve always been happy with me. _Look at me, Eddie._ ” 

“That’s not true,” Eddie says, looking at Faye for reassurance. He feels shaky. Myra knows he hates when she cries, knows he always used to give in when she turned on the waterworks, just like his mother. He’s not even sure who he’s sitting next to anymore, which one of them. “I was...I was miserable for years. I just...I want to be myself for once in my life. I want to make my own decisions.” 

“Eddie -”

“Stop,” he says quietly. “Just stop. There’s nothing you can say to get me to come back to you. It’s over mo-Myra. Will you please look at the division of assets? You can keep the house.” 

“It’s _our_ _house_ Eddie and don’t think I didn’t notice you came home. Why didn’t you come home when I was there? We needed to talk, in our house Eddie. These kinds of marital troubles shouldn’t leave the home.” 

“I just went to get my birth certificate and documents,” he says. “And the rest of my clothes. I didn’t go to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to you, there’s nothing left to say. I just want a divorce.” 

“Did you bring that dirty man into _our_ _house_ Eddie?”

“That’s not important,” Eddie says quickly. “Just look at the paperwork.” 

“No,” she says. “If you won’t be reasonable I’ll leave, and _you_ ,” she says to Faye. “You’re supposed to be mediating. You see that I’m right, don’t you? Why won’t you speak up and tell him?” 

“I think,” Faye says slowly. “That Eddie is being very considerate. He wants a no-fault divorce but in my professional opinion he has a good start for a divorce on grounds of inhuman and cruel treatment.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve never been cruel to Eddie,” Myra says. 

“I’ve been a divorce lawyer for many years, Myra. And in my professional opinion, although you’re not paying for it, Eddie is. My free legal advice to you is to take the agreement, it’s highly favorable for you. This could get drawn out over months but if you think dragging Eddie through legal hell will make him come back to you, you’re sorely mistaken.” 

“That’s _rude_ ,” Myra says. “You don’t know me. You don’t know him. You don’t know our relationship. I love Eddie, he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Myra,” Eddie sighs, feeling exhausted. “I’m leaving you no matter what and I’m not coming back. Faye is right, it doesn’t matter if you drag this out and make it as hard as possible for me, I’m not backing down, you’re not wearing me out, and I’m not going back. We’re over. Accept it and move on.”

“If that’s how you feel then I’m taking you for everything you’ve got,” she snaps. “I deserve that after everything you’ve put me through! You’re the one who’s being _inhuman and cruel_!” 

“If you’d like to hire your own attorney that’s perfectly fine,” Faye says calmly. “But since you’re here you might as well use your time efficiently and look at this draft.” 

“Fine,” she bites back. “But I already know it won’t be enough. I’m keeping the house.” 

“I...I already said you can keep the house,” Eddie says, confused. He looks at Faye for confirmation. He said that, didn’t he? Several times. Didn’t he? He’s positive he did.

“No you didn’t,” she snaps at him. “You’re always being so selfish Eddie. You never think about me. You took the best years of my life, how am I supposed to start over?” 

“You’ll figure it out,” he says, looking at Faye with a bewildered expression. She looks back calmly. 

“Here,” Faye says, pulling two copies of the proposed settlement agreement out and handing them each one. 

Myra would like alimony but based on the financial records Eddie brought with him Faye tells her it’s highly unlikely the judge would award it to her given her independent income and the fact that Eddie is willing to give up the house and all the possessions in it. She huffs about it a bit, looking over their financial history. 

“The decision is really up to the judge,” Faye repeats patiently. “Even if I put it in the agreement, they would likely reject it.” 

“That’s stupid,” Myra says. “They should take into account inhuman and cruel treatment. _I’m the_ _victim here_ , I should be awarded compensation.” 

Eddie makes an involuntary noise of disbelief. 

“ _Eddie,_ use your inhaler,” Myra snaps at him.

“I don’t need an inhaler,” he says, trying to calm his heartbeat. “It was a placebo. I don’t have asthma, I have anxiety.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Myra huffs. “You don’t have anxiety Eddie, you have nothing to be anxious about. Have you talked to Dr. Branson about this?”

“I don’t need to,” Eddie says quietly, his heart still working overtime as he tries to concentrate on the paper in his hand. “Let’s move on.” 

Thankfully Faye jumps into the next section before Myra can fight him on it. It’s exhausting, getting through the pile of paperwork with Myra dragging her feet the entire time. Eddie doesn’t remember exactly how much he’s paying Faye but it can’t possibly be enough. It feels like a miracle when Myra signs everywhere she needs to sign, Faye’s secretary in the room to witness all the notarizing and signatures. Eddie thought he’d be more relieved but all he is is tired. 

“Alright, that’s it for this stage, you can give your wrist a break from signing,” Faye smiles at him. “I’ll have Tara scan everything and make copies and then you can file it with the country clerk in Queens.” 

“I’ll file it,” Myra says. 

Panic grips his chest. If she walks out of here with the paperwork there’s no way it’s getting filed, she’ll probably throw it in the nearest trash can, it won’t even make it out of the building. 

“It’s our policy that the plaintiff file the paperwork,” Faye says and it doesn’t escape Eddie’s panicky notice that she said ‘ _our policy_ ’ and not ‘the law’ so she must have been prepared for this possibility. “We’re done here, you don’t have to wait around for all the scanning, it can take a while,” she says to Myra and Eddie pointedly doesn’t look at her. 

“Eddie we should talk about this more,” Myra says. “Come with me.” 

“No,” Eddie says to Faye’s desk. He feels like he’s been talking to it for hours. “I don’t have anything else to say.” 

“I didn’t say _you_ needed to talk, Eddie,” Myra says. “You need to listen to me or it’ll be too late to save our marriage.” 

“We already filled out the paperwork,” Eddie says, completely bewildered. Has she always been this delusional or is the divorce making her have some kind of mental break? “It’s over.” 

“Eddie, come with me.” She stands, her voice commanding and it’s terrifying how his legs twitch at the muscle memory of responding to that tone, ‘yes mommy’ dying on his lips. 

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you,” Eddie says firmly and she gives up. 

“You’re going to regret this,” she says before she leaves the room. Eddie feels a huge weight lift off of him. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out shakily. “Sorry.” 

“It’s ok,” Faye says, hitting ‘stop’ on the recording. “It’s warranted. How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, letting himself relax into the chair. It’s actually very comfortable, he hadn’t been able to notice when he was tense. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” she laughs lightly. “I’ve had easier clients' spouses and worse. She’s exhausting.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. That’s really the best word for Myra, she’d been very good at exhausting him, leaving him too tired and weak to fight back for long. “She’s not usually like that. Well...she’s not usually that bad.”

“It’s the stress. I assume you didn’t know she has narcissistic personality disorder when you married her. Stress always amplifies the symptoms.” 

“She what?” Eddie asks, his brain feeling like mush. 

“Narcissistic personality disorder,” she repeats. “I’m not a psychologist, my wife is, I can’t officially diagnose anyone but I deal with it a lot.” 

“I...I didn’t know.” He’s not sure what that entails or if it’s even accurate, he’s never thought of Myra as being narcissistic. “She’s like a clone of my mother,” Eddie admits, still feeling shaky. “I know that says a lot about me. I uh...I should really get a therapist.” 

“I recommend it,” Faye says without a hint of judgment. “I’d recommend a good one but you’re going to California, correct? We left your address blank by the way, we need to fill that in. Myra will get a copy but we can block her from seeing it if you want.” 

He wants to block it from her. She followed them when he got out of the hospital, called the police and screamed at Richie in front of their Airbnb - the thought of her showing up at Richie’s house across the country to try to drag him back is nauseating. Not having legally changed his address makes him nervous but there’s no getting around that right now. He needs to call his insurance company and make sure Myra doesn’t receive anymore of his medical bills too, and get her taken off as his emergency contact. There’s still so much to do but he can’t think about that right now, his brain already feels fried.

“She signed the affidavit,” Faye says, paperclipping the paperwork together into different bundles. “After you file the papers the next step is to get your case on the court’s calendar. You don’t have to wait, you can get it on the calendar today after you file but adjust your expectations, dates fill up fast so it might not be for a couple months.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, fighting against the exhausted, surreal feeling settling over him. He didn’t expect it would be this easy - the bureaucratic side, Myra hadn’t exactly made the paperwork easy but she’d signed and that’s all that matters. “Then I’ll have to go?”

“You won’t have to attend,” Faye smiles reassuringly. “It’s an uncontested divorce, neither of you needs to testify, it’s all in the affidavits. The judge will rule on it and the paperwork will be filed and you’ll be notified.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says. He needs time for this all to sink in, it’s happening so fast. “Thank you.” 

“She’s gone,” Faye tells him as she walks him back out to the receptionist to pay. “Security in the central lobby messaged me when she left the building.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says. “She...stuck around for a while didn’t she?” It didn’t occur to him that she’d try to corner him, he assumed she’d have to get back to work. 

“Yes,” Faye says sympathetically. “I just wanted you to know that she’s not going to ambush you out there. If you’d like security to walk you to your car or the subway they can, they’re good guys.”

Eddie declines, expressing his heartfelt gratitude the entire way out of the office. It’s not cheap and the money will come out of his funds because he initiated the divorce but he feels no regret as he hands over his card. 

He almost starts crying in the bathroom but he holds himself together until Richie meets him in the lobby on the first floor, unable to hold back when Richie smiles tentatively at him and says a soft “hey, how’d it go?” and then Eddie is burying his face in the collar of Richie’s shirt and sobbing, vaguely aware that people are looking at them - not stopping, this is New York City, they’ve got places to be, but definitely looking. 

“That bad, huh?” Richie asks, wrapping his arms around Eddie like he can shield him from anything. 

“No,” Eddie manages to say. “She signed.” 

“Oh, Eds, that’s great,” Richie says, presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. 

“It was fucking exhausting,” Eddie sighs, pressing against Richie for support, trying to control his breathing. 

“I bet. You want to get out of here?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, pulling away, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, too tired to care about anyone who saw. “I’m fucking starving.”

“You want to go celebrate? What are you feeling for your post-divorce party?” Richie asks.

“It’s not final, I have to file the papers in Queens,” Eddie says. “I don’t know, I’m just hungry. Food. Any food. We could go get a hotdog.” 

“You’d eat a hotdog? _Off the street_?”

“Right now I would,” Eddie says, his stomach growling to prove his point. He hadn’t been able to eat much for breakfast, nerves stealing his appetite. 

“How about steak?” Richie asks, already on his phone, presumably looking up steakhouses.

“Sure,” Eddie says. “I don’t care which one.” 

“Del Frisco’s _Double Eagle Steakhouse_? That sounds like part steakhouse, part bad action movie, let’s go, it’s close.”

It’s a good choice, Eddie is glad he didn’t settle for a sketchy street hotdog when he’s cutting into his filet mignon - after Richie took a picture of him smiling, his steaming, mouthwatering meal in front of him. He really loves Richie, he even loves the stupid happy noise he makes at his first bite. Usually Eddie drinks wine but this is definitely a champagne occasion and he might have to drink it more often, he likes the mellow flavor and the bubbles. He takes a picture of Richie drinking from his champagne flute, pinky inexplicably sticking out, and sends it to the Losers’ group chat. ‘ _Filing for divorce today_ ,’ he writes and the excited replies start pouring in. Richie doesn’t give him shit for being on his phone, however briefly - Myra used to scold him for looking at his phone when they ate but she was allowed to do it whenever she wanted. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Richie asks when they’re back in the car, both stuffed, driving into the tunnel that will take them across the East River into Queens. 

“She’s delusional, Rich and I don’t know if she always was and I just went along with it or I didn’t see or I broke her when I left but it was fucking rough.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Richie says. “You didn’t break her, Eds. Anything she says or does is her own fucking choice.”

“My lawyer said she has narcissistic personality disorder.” 

“That makes so much fucking sense, Jesus,” Richie says like it really means something to him. “I work in show business, I’m very fucking aware of it,” he says when Eddie asks about it. 

“She’s not vain,” Eddie says, staring out the window at the ugly tile on the tunnel walls. 

“It’s not about vanity,” Richie says. “It’s about fucking...selfishness and not being able to see past their own fucking needs and wants. I don’t know, I took one psych class in college, I was a fucking theater major though and _yikes_. Not everyone in entertainment is like that, there’s plenty of genuine cool people but you learn to recognize it. _The lack of empathy, fuck_. Do you know what she said when we met? She said ‘ _Why are you crying? You’re fine, aren’t you? You have nothing to cry about,_ ’ after I told her I was one of your friends. Jesus you were laying there in a fucking coma and she didn’t understand _why I was crying._ ” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says. 

“You don’t need to fucking apologize for her, Eds. It’s not your fault.” 

“I married her. I knew I shouldn’t but I still did it. I shouldn’t have.”

“Remember, love, no time machine,” Richie says, reaching over to squeeze his leg. “All that fucking matters is you’re out of there.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says hollowly. He doesn’t know how to let this go, the deep shame he feels when he thinks about his series of inexcusable decisions. “My mom is buried around here. Mount Olivet Cemetery.” 

“Did you change your mind about dancing on her grave?” Richie asks. 

“No,” Eddie says, staring at the concrete wall dividing the expressway from civilization. 

“If you change your mind let me know, Eds.”

Maybe bringing the person he plans on spending the rest of his life with into the courthouse to wait in line with him to file his divorce papers is a little weird but it doesn’t stop him. The mood is somber and tense. There’s one woman who isn’t trying to hide her tears and another with a baby swaddled to her chest, holding a fussy toddler’s hand and Eddie feels a wave of sadness and selfish gratitude. At least he and Myra never had kids. Fatherhood had never appealed to him - how was he supposed to be a father when he’d never had one, his only parental blueprint his fucked up mother? None of them had kids and it feels significant, purposeful, but he knows Stan wanted kids and never got to have them. He wonders if whatever bizarre alien sterilization magic that potentially befell them has been lifted now, if Stan and his wife could have had a child now, if Stan was alive. He blinks the tears out of his eyes and leans into Richie. 

“Do you want kids?” he asks, because that’s a great question to ask in line for filing for divorce. 

“No,” Richie says, like it’s a totally normal time and place to have this conversation. “Do you?” 

“No,” he says. 

“Well it’s good we’re on the same page. Do you still want a dog?” 

“I...Yeah, I’d like that,” Eddie answers, unsure about the ‘still’ in the question. Did they talk about that? Eddie has never had a dog, or any pet, but he likes dogs, he always liked looking at pictures of his coworkers dogs over pictures of their children. 

“You don’t remember, do you?” Richie asks, bumping his shoulder into Eddie’s with a grin. Eddie shakes his head. “So that was the morphine talking. You asked if we could get a dog. Your wife wasn’t amused, she said you were allergic and you couldn’t have one but I told you…” He clears his throat, staring at his feet and Eddie slips his hand inside the pocket of Richie’s hoodie to hold his hand. “I’d buy you a hundred puppies but you had to stay alive.” 

“I don’t want a hundred puppies,” Eddie says. “I don’t know if I even want one puppy. We should get a rescue. Like Ben and Bev.” Eddie thinks about the pictures Beverly sent a few days ago. Coco Barknel is a cute dog and from what Beverly said she’s sweet and friendly once she gets past her fear of strangers. She makes Beverly feel safe, she’d said privately to Eddie. “Also, can you stop calling her my wife?” 

“My wife?” Richie repeats back in a spot-on Borat impression. Eddie is not amused. “Sorry, Eds. I’ll stop. Soon she’ll be your ex-wife.” Eddie doesn’t know why Richie has a weird aversion to saying her name but he lets it go. 

It feels like one of the longest days of his life as he follows Richie upstairs to their rental in Greenwich village, clutching his padfolio - Richie made fun of him when he called it that but that’s it’s fucking name what else is he supposed to call it? It feels lighter now, one less thick packet of papers. The court date isn’t until November. By Thanksgiving he’ll be free. 

While Eddie was meeting with his lawyer Richie went shopping. He has two big bags from Urban Outfitters of all places but it makes sense when he shows Eddie his haul, the odd collection of bold patterns that Eddie thinks look ridiculous but knows he’ll change his mind about when Richie puts them on. It feels good to sit down and relax. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie laughs when Richie holds up a shirt that looks disturbingly like the shirt he was wearing in Derry, the same warm color but it’s covered in images of the Pink Panther. 

“It’s like it was made for me,” Richie grins at him, tossing it to Eddie so he can examine it more closely. 

“Ridiculous,” Eddie says fondly, feeling the fabric. “What the fuck?!” he repeats when he sees the price tag. 

“What?” Richie asks, holding up a black shirt with an incomprehensible pattern - palm trees and...something geometrical, Eddie can’t be sure.

“This is so expensive, Rich.” 

“It’s not _that_ expensive. Have you seen your suits and shoes?” Eddie wants to object because those are for _work_ and he likes the way he feels in them but he closes his mouth because that’s exactly why Richie bought it, he must have looked in the mirror and liked what he saw and Eddie wants Richie feeling good about himself. “Don’t look at the price tag on this one, it’s for you.” 

He tosses Eddie a colorful shirt, disparately sized squares and rectangles in pink, purple, blue, green, yellow - it looks like someone on acid tried to make a checkerboard. He can’t resist looking at the price tag, pursing his lips but not saying anything about it to Richie. “It’s...Are you sure?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, it’ll look good on you, trust me. You can try it on if you want, make sure I got the right size.” 

Eddie sighs but takes off his tie, laying it on the back of the couch, followed by his suit jacket and shirt, Richie’s eyes glued to him. His face heats up as he unbuttons the shirt and slides it on. 

“Can I?” Richie asks as Eddie’s hands touch the bottom button. Eddie’s first instinct is to say ‘ _no,_ ’ because he can do it himself but he knows Richie knows that so he must want to do it for a different reason. Eddie shrugs and drops his hands, a smile tugging at his lips as Richie straightens out the shirt, running his hands down both sides, his fingers brushing Eddie’s bare skin before he starts buttoning it up. It feels intimate and sweet, unguarded affection in Richie’s eyes as he looks down at Eddie. “You look great, love.” 

“Really?” Eddie looks down. It’s so colorful, he never wears this many colors at once but he likes it, it’s the kind of thing he’d look at and admire but never buy because it’s too bold, the kind of thing Myra would call ‘too loud’ but Eddie has always been loud when he’s being himself. He reluctantly pulls away to go look in the full length mirror in the bedroom. He likes it, Richie was right, it does look good on him. 

“So, what do you say?” Richie asks, leaning against the door and looking at him, his arms crossed. “Do I have the job? You gonna hire me as your stylist?” 

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Eddie says, still staring at himself. He looks younger somehow, but not like he’s not dressing his age, not like he’s clinging to his youth, just softer somehow. “I like it though. Thanks, Rich.” 

“Cool,” Richie says, sounding pleased. “Feel free to borrow any of the other shirts I bought.” 

“I’m not ever wearing that Pink Panther one,” Eddie says, turning away from the mirror. “It’s too expensive for me to ruin, you can ruin it. Drip food all over your expensive ass bib.” 

“Fuck you, I don’t need a bib, _you’re_ the messy eater. You used to get ice cream all over your face. Like you were practicing eating ass or something.” 

“Fuck you, no I didn’t,” Eddie says, his face heating up. “I’ve never...It wouldn’t be the same as an ice cream cone...Would it?”

“Maybe the way you went at them sometimes, all,” Richie sticks his tongue out and licks the air frantically. It shouldn’t be sexy and yet. 

“That’s not how I ate ice cream,” Eddie insists. “I wasn’t a fucking animal.” 

“You were sometimes,” Richie says. “You could be _feral,_ Eds. I fucking loved it.”

“Really?” Eddie asks. 

“When you let yourself.” 

Eddie knows what he’s talking about, the times as a kid the Losers made him forget he was Eddie _Kaspbrak_ , the delicate kid with a walking pharmacy and a long list of allergies and medical conditions. He remembers screaming, throwing rocks at Henry Bowers and his friends with no regard for his own wellbeing. When he went home that day he walked through the door and suddenly didn’t know who he was anymore - the Eddie who threw the rocks or the Eddie who tried to be a good boy, who told his mommy he loved her and kissed her cheek everyday and would until the day one of them died. 

“You ok, Eds?” Richie asks gently. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie says quickly, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “When we get settled in California I should find a therapist.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Richie says and Eddie instantly feels less embarrassed. “I think all of us could use a good therapist.” 

“Fucking A,” Eddie agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pink Panther shirt](https://www.urbanoutfitters.com/shop/lc23-pink-panther-short-sleeve-button-down-shirt?category=mens-shirts&quantity=1) is out of stock but there's still pictures. [Eddie's shirt](https://www.urbanoutfitters.com/shop/pentimento-upcycled-madras-short-sleeve-button-down-shirt38?category=mens-shirts&color=000&type=REGULAR&size=ONE%20SIZE&quantity=1). I put the rest of the the haul in a (private) tumblr post if you want to see them [here](https://hannahsblog.tumblr.com/private/637413962223419392/tumblr_3XFWxtfrJ1zL5FpgX)  
> I hope the Myra conversations aren't too repetitive! Her strategy to get her way is just to wear him down so it involves a lot of rehashing/repetition but she's gone from the story now!


	6. Open Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie, Richie, and Mike hit the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing out the timeline for the story I realized it’s 2016 and they were going to be on the road for the election and I think one or more of them would have a strong opinion about voting so this chapter contains an accidental voting PSA and mention of the 2016 election. Also contains Richie having a bad impression of Audra which is not at all a view I have because I really liked book Audra (but I went more with her implied movie characterization). Reference to book canon Ben being a high functioning alcoholic, references to real places and things including, but not limited to: the Jersey Devil (highly recommend the podcast Lore, ep. 9 A Devil on the Roof, which is how I found out about it), Action Park (which I learned about from the podcast The Jeff Rubin Jeff Rubin Show, ep. 46 Action Park, World’s Most Dangerous Water Park), Proctor, North Carolina ([blog post with cool pictures](https://www.lilblueboo.com/2014/07/the-ghost-towns-of-hazel-creek.html)), [alligators/crocodiles in New York City](https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/26/nyregion/alligators-sewers-new-york.html), a real [gay Halloween nonprofit](https://www.halloweenneworleans.com/) in New Orleans benefitting an [AIDS/HIV support program](https://www.projectlazarus.net/). Also book Stan isn’t devout, his family only goes to the synagogue in Bangor for Yom Kippur, but movie Stan’s father was a rabbi so I made him in the middle as far as keeping kosher goes. (Do you ever think about how much that changes Derry/the dynamic in town? Because Derry is a small town but has enough Jewish people to have a rabbi in the movie? Interesting decision.)

_I want to live at the Holiday Inn_

_Where somebody else makes the bed_

_We’ll watch TV while the lights on the street_

_Put all the stars to death_

_It’s been on my mind since Bowie died_

_Just checking out to hide from life_

_And all of our problems, I’m gonna solve ‘em_

_With you riding shotgun, speeding, ‘cause fuck the cops_

Smoke Signals - Phoebe Bridgers

**Boston, Massachusetts, September 22nd**

It feels good to be moving again. Car trips used to make him antsy, always wishing he could just arrive already, always too many assholes on the road, too much time wasted in traffic but he’s really starting to get the appeal - listening to music, talking to Richie, occasionally reaching over to touch his leg, catching Richie’s hand when he reaches for Eddie. He’s never been on a road trip before but he’s excited about it. 

They meet Mike at their Airbnb in an old building near Boston Common, the hallway lined with historical photos of the area that Eddie is sure Mike found interesting. 

“Hey guys,” Mike smiles when he answers the door. His smile is brighter than it was in Derry, it looks like years have melted off his face since they saw him last. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, setting down Richie’s duffel bag and embracing him tightly. Mike makes a brief sound of surprise before he’s hugging him back, strong arms wrapped around him. “You smell good.”

“Thanks Eddie,” Mike laughs and releases him, a fond look on his face. 

“Were you just hitting on Mike?” Richie asks, setting down Eddie’s bags so he can hug Mike too - shorter and more forceful, the kind of back banging hug Eddie always hates. “He’s off the painkillers, he doesn’t even have an excuse.” 

“It was a compliment, Jesus, it’s not weird to compliment your friends. If you smelled that good I’d let you know.” 

“You know you love my stink,” Richie says, lifting his eyebrows suggestively, making Mike laugh. Eddie rolls his eyes even though he knows it’s true - not that Richie stinks, Eddie is constantly burying his face in Richie’s neck and breathing him in, of course he likes the way he smells.

Eddie looks around the apartment; it feels spacious but that might be the lack of furniture. The kitchen is small but looks clean. They make themselves comfortable in the sitting area and Eddie wonders what kind of psychopath placed the furniture - the TV is far away and the couch doesn’t even face it, maybe he could get Mike and Richie to move things around so the arrangement makes more sense. Eddie doesn’t really feel like sitting, they just sat for four hours in the car, but he likes being within touching distance of Richie, their legs pressed together as they sit on the couch. 

“What have you been up to, Mike? Enjoying your freedom?” Richie asks. 

“Things are good, great. My replacement at the library is going to be great. Getting here was an experience though,” Mike’s smile falters.

“What happened?” Eddie asks.

“My car broke down leaving Portland,” he smiles wryly. “It’s the farthest south I’ve been from Derry and my car just...stopped.” 

“Fuck,” Eddie says sympathetically. 

“You don’t think it was possessed do you? Trying to keep you from escaping? There’s a movie about a possessed car, isn’t there?” Richie asks. Eddie scoffs before he can help himself.

“It sounds crazy but it did seem like a possibility,” Mike laughs, leaning more toward self-deprecating than his real, warm laugh and now Eddie feels bad for scoffing at the idea. “Then I remembered we defeated It, there’s nothing holding me there, it was just an old car. Not everything is a sign. It was just an old car,” he repeats and Eddie feels like it’s more for himself, a mantra he may have been repeating all day and he almost gets up to hug him again. “I bought it used in high school, I’m surprised it lasted that long.” 

“That’s still fucking terrifying, bro. I’m glad you made it,” Eddie says, suppressing a shiver. What if something like that had happened to him? What if the doorknob broke off when he was leaving his and Myra’s house? Would he have had the mental capacity to deal with it or would he have just sat down and accepted his fate, that the jail cell had finally been locked permanently? 

“Luckily I’d already mailed my boxes to Bill’s,” Mike says. “Everything else I could carry.”

“Why’d you mail your stuff to _Bill’s_? Doesn’t he live in Calabasas?” Richie asks.

“Hidden Hills. He invited me to stay with him until I figure out where I’m settling down,” Mike says. 

“That’s really nice.”

“Man Mike, you’re going to have the fucking culture shock of a lifetime. From Derry to Bill’s mansion in fucking _Hidden Hills_.” 

“Oh shit, _Audra_ ,” Eddie looks at Mike with wide eyes. He’s going to stay with a _movie star_.

“She’s just a person, Eddie,” Mike says. “Anyway, Bill said she works a lot. I probably won’t even see her that much. Once their current movie wraps she’s filming in England.” 

Eddie doesn’t know how Mike can talk so casually about this, the thought of meeting Bill’s movie star wife makes him feel preemptively starstruck and nervous. “What’s she like?” Eddie asks Mike. 

“She’s nice,” Mike says quickly. “Beautiful. Very down to earth.” 

“She didn’t seem that nice,” Richie says. 

“You hardly saw her, Rich,” Mike reminds him. 

“Well from what I saw she seemed more interested in getting Bill back to the set than the fact that one of his best friends nearly fucking _died_ and was in the hospital,” Richie says, glaring at the ceiling.

“She was under a lot of pressure from the studio,” Mike says gently. 

“That’s not an excuse,” Richie says, reaching out to touch Eddie’s leg next to him. “I was in the middle of a goddamn tour and I still came. I still cancelled the rest because...I don’t know how she could have expected...There are things more important than a fucking movie studio’s profit or a list of sold-out tour dates, there’s more important things than fucking money.”

“That’s easy for you to say, Rich,” Mike says, still gentle but Eddie can feel Richie tense next to him. Eddie remembers Richie saying that Mike had to work at the library when he was in the hospital. “Shutting down a movie doesn’t just hurt the studio. There are caterers, janitors, people with low hourly wages who need that work.”

“Yeah,” Richie sighs after a moment. “You’re right, of course you are, Mike, just - Bill didn’t need to be there. He made the edits fine from his laptop. Even with the time difference.” 

“Do you live far from Bill?” Eddie asks because he desperately wants to change the subject. 

“Pretty close,” Richie says. “I still can’t wrap my mind around it. We live like less than an hour from each other and last month if you’d told me ‘hey fuckface, you live near Big Bill,’ I would have said ‘who the fuck is that?’ fucking clown.” 

“Fucking clown,” Mike agrees and it makes them both look at him because he hardly ever swears. 

“Is California the goal then? Are we driving cross-country?” Eddie asks. 

“It’s the end point, but I don’t want to go directly there, if that’s alright with you two,” Mike says.

“This is your midlife crisis roadtrip, Mikey, we’re just along for the ride,” Richie says. 

“Fuck you, this is all of our midlife crisis roadtrip,” Eddie says. “But he’s right Mike, you decide where we go.” 

“Ok,” Mike grins at them. “I have a few ideas.” 

“Your ideas better not include any rock and mineral museums,” Richie says. 

“You said you’d take me anywhere,” Eddie teases him. 

“Not without complaining,” Richie says. “You didn’t read the fine print.” 

“No rock and mineral museums,” Mike chuckles. “The list includes things like Halloween in New Orleans, if that interests you, Rich.” 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Richie says quickly. “I’m gonna get so drunk and flash my hairy tits everywhere. I’m gonna get so many beads.” 

“That’s Mardi Gras, asshole,” Eddie elbows him lightly in the side.

“How do you guys want to handle the election?” Mike asks. “You can’t exactly request an absentee ballot on the road.”

“I guess we’ll have to split up and fly home?” Eddie asks. He hadn’t thought about that but holy shit it’s coming up.

“I’ll stick with Eds,” Richie says. 

“What?” Eddie asks. “You’re not going to vote?” 

“Like one vote in California is going to make any fucking difference,” Richie says. “I’m not even registered to vote.” 

“Wow,” Mike says, a look of genuine horror on his face. “What the... _How_... _Why_...I…What?”

“You broke Mike,” Eddie says. “What the fuck Richie? There was a huge vote about gay marriage. You didn’t fucking vote on that?” 

“No,” Richie says defensively. “I didn’t fucking vote on it. It’s not like I voted _against_ it, I just ignored it. I always ignore politics, fuck politics, I hate politics. I don’t care about politics, it’s all fucking stupid.” 

“That’s so fucking selfish, asshole.” Eddie is appalled. What the actual fuck? 

“I know,” Richie says, his voice still defensive. “I’m a fucking asshole, I know that, I thought you knew that too.” 

“You’re not -” Eddie starts.

“You literally just called me an asshole,” Richie cuts him off. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie says. 

“I’m disappointed, Rich,” Mike says finally and Eddie’s stomach immediately drops even though he’s not the one who did anything wrong, Eddie always votes. “Apathy isn’t cool, Rich. The voting rights act passed ten years before we were born. My parents' voting rights weren’t secure until then. They always treated voting like it was our duty. Our civic responsibility. You’ve always had the right to vote, and your parents and your grandparents.” 

“Fuck,” Richie sighs, the room falling quiet as he lets it sink in. “Yeah, you’re fucking right man. I um, I’ll do better. It was fucked up of me. I’ll vote. I can’t believe you busted out your disappointed dad voice, fuck it’s really good Mike. Anything else you want me to do? Floss? Eat my vegetables? Take out the garbage? Mow the lawn?”

“Thank you,” Mike says gravely. “Just vote. You should do the other things too though, in general.”

“I’ll work on it,” Eddie says. It’s not like politics was something they talked about as kids but it shocks him that Richie has never voted; Eddie always thought of it as something every responsible adult did and Eddie has always strived to be responsible above all else.

“So I’m going to California to vote for Trump right, that’s what you guys wanted?” 

“Don’t even fucking joke about it Richie,” Eddie says. “You just got out of the doghouse.” 

“Sorry, too soon. Did you want to drag my ignorant white ass more or can we go eat?” 

“We can eat,” Mike says mildly. “There’s an Ethiopian restaurant I want to try. And if you make any jokes about Ethiopian food I’ll steal your man, don’t try me Rich.” 

“Don’t try him, Rich, he can do it,” Eddie says, deadly serious. Mike is desirable, he’s _Mike_ , he’s responsible, loyal, kind, intelligent, and handsome on top of it all but Eddie is so in love with Richie he can’t imagine life without him, without his jokes and his smile and his laugh and the way he says ‘Eddie my love.’ Without him catching Richie looking at him like he can’t believe this is happening, without how loved Richie makes him feel. 

“I can’t believe you two are bullying me this much. We just got here, I haven’t even taken my shoes off yet. Give it to me straight, is this some kind of kinky murder plot for the two of you? Are you going to kill me and dump my body where no one will ever find it?” 

“Are we going to ignore that he just said ‘give it to me straight,’ Mike?” 

“No,” Mike laughs and Richie groans, tossing Eddie’s car key on its New York Mets keychain to Mike. He catches it with a look of surprise. 

“Here, you drive. You’ve already emasculated me enough, I give up. You’re in charge, Mike.” 

“Rental?” Mike asks. 

“It’s my car,” Eddie says. “I uh...I don’t know what my plan was when we got here with it but I guess it’s good we brought it.”

“I thought you crashed it when I called,” Mike says, putting the key in his pocket with more care than necessary. 

“I did. The damage wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says. 

“It really takes the pressure off,” Richie says. “There’s already a dent so feel free to go nuts in Eddie’s fancy fucking Escalade, Mike.” 

Mike treats Eddie’s car with the respect and care it deserves, just like Eddie knew he would. Eddie hadn’t been nervous about the drive but he was nervous about the restaurant choice, and not because the last restaurant Mike chose for them to eat at had a bowl of nightmare fortune cookies. Eddie has never been much of an adventurous eater, living in New York City, going out to lunch or after work drinks with his coworkers made him expand his palate but he rarely goes out of his comfort zone. The unknown had always seemed too risky but walking into the little restaurant and smelling unfamiliar spices makes him surprisingly excited. Maybe he can change, maybe he can be the guy who tries new things and says things like ‘oh, you haven’t tried Ethiopian food? You should try it, you haven’t lived until you’ve tried Ethiopian food,’ maybe that could be him. 

“So, what do you recommend?” Richie asks, looking at the menu of completely unfamiliar things.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had Ethiopian food. I’ve lived in Maine my entire life. Derry didn’t get an _ethnic_ restaurant until the late nineties. But I’m not passing up trying everything under the sun. They have combos, let's just try a bunch of stuff.” 

He’s grateful there’s instructions at the table about how to eat the food because Eddie would be at a loss, staring at the porous crêpe-like thing that acts as both plate and utensil. It’s not an entirely foreign concept, he’s been to an Indian restaurant...once. They like almost everything they order. Even with the unfamiliar spices, it’s still good, still recognizable; Eddie has had lentils before, and lamb, and potatoes and cabbage, it’s just the preparation and flavor that’s new. There’s one unassuming looking red lentil dish that makes them all reach for their water even though they ordered mild but Eddie is definitely a guy who tried something new and liked it by the time they’re done which makes him extremely pleased with himself.

Mike’s passion for trying new things is infectious and includes things Eddie would normally think of as too cheesy or too much of a tourist trap but he gladly piles into the Ghosts and Gravestones trolley for a night tour of Boston’s supposedly haunted places and has a great time once he gets Richie to stop trying to get the ‘seventeenth century grave-digger’ tour guide to break character. Mike seems especially enthralled. Eddie thought Mike would have had enough of life’s macabre tragedies but that’s not the case - he plans on centering his Boston podcast around the Spunker Society, a group of Harvard students in the 1790s who turned to grave robbing to supply themselves with fresh cadavers to learn anatomy from. Eddie will listen to the episode because he loves Mike but that sounds horrifying. 

Mike’s quest takes them to Harvard itself the next day and Eddie can’t help but be intimidated. Harvard is prestigious, a school for smart, wealthy people - Eddie went to a state school, Queens College because his mother had still controlled his life and she didn’t even want him leaving the borough because she was convinced a bridge or tunnel would collapse and Eddie would die, that if he wasn’t home by dark he would be mugged and murdered. He feels out of place, waiting for someone to come yell at him for breathing the expensive Harvard air for free as they cross Harvard Yard. He thinks that’s what’s happening when a group of five college students approach them. 

“Holy shit, you’re Richie Tozier,” one of the guys says. 

It catches Eddie by surprise just like it did at the Jade, his mind reeling for a moment because _how could this person possibly know Richie_? 

“Guilty as charged,” Richie says, holding up his hands. 

“What are you doing at Harvard, dude?” one of the other guys asks. 

It doesn’t escape Eddie’s notice that they all appear to be jock-frat-looking young men. It makes him bristle. What if they’re mean to Richie? Eddie will have to intervene and if it got physical they could definitely take him. 

“You didn’t hear? I’m the new Dean so you kids better stop running panties up the flagpole and kidnapping Yale’s mascot or I’ll have your hides, ya hear?” They laugh politely, looking at Richie with wide eyed awe that makes Eddie feel weird. “Nah, my friend is doing some research, I’m just along for the ride.” 

“That’s fucking wild. Can we get a picture?” 

“Sure, Mike can you do the honors?” 

“I can do it,” Eddie says quickly because if Mike doesn’t get to his meeting with the history professor who agreed to an interview soon he’s going to be _on time_ instead of early, which is basically late. 

“No way Eds, you’re too short. Mike’s tall, his angle is way better for my chin,” Richie says, letting the group surround him. Eddie scoffs, there’s nothing wrong with Richie’s chin, Eddie loves his chin. 

Mike takes one of their phones with a chuckle and takes several pictures, a look of concentration on his face that tells Eddie he’s actually putting effort into taking _good_ pictures, which isn’t what Eddie would have done, Eddie wants to get Richie as far away from these strangers as soon as possible. They could be dangerous, they could turn on him. Thankfully the students leave them alone after, giving their thanks. 

“That was fucking weird,” Eddie says when they’re out of earshot. 

“Could have been way weirder,” Richie says. “Sometimes people get way too clingy and don’t want to let me go.”

Eddie frowns. Ok, maybe Eddie understands Richie’s fans. Maybe in some alternate universe Eddie is one of those fans, hoping to get Richie’s attention, lusting after him from afar, fantasizing about being with him. 

“I’ll meet you guys at the archeology museum,” Mike tells them when they part ways, Richie and Eddie heading toward the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Despite living in New York City Eddie hasn’t been to a lot of museums. He likes it, staring in wonder at the size of the skeletons on display. It gives him a sense of awe, makes him feel humble standing in front of whale bones; it makes him think of moving slowly through a galaxy filled sky on the back of something incomprehensibly massive. 

“You tricked me,” Richie leans close and whispers as they walk into the room labeled ‘Earth and Planetary Science’ and see the long row of glass cases. “Look at all those fucking _rocks and minerals._ I want more dinosaur bones.” 

“Shut up, they’re pretty,” Eddie says, pleased that Richie sticks close to him even as he exaggerates how interesting he finds them, leaning close to the glass to get a better look.

Mike is beaming when they meet up so his interview must have gone well. He keeps getting distracted from telling them about it, his eyes fixated on the exhibits. Eddie can admit that half the fun of walking around the museum is Mike’s unabashed joy at everything he sees. He takes a few candid pictures of Mike staring at a huge stone carving, a sketchbook open in his hands, and sends them to Bill. He doesn’t know why; he’d intended to send them to the group chat but his thumb had specifically picked Bill so he just goes with it. Beverly and Ben have been busy with serious things, Eddie doesn’t want to rub it in their faces that he, Richie, and Mike are doing something fun, that must be why his instinct said _this is only for Bill_. It’s a little early in California, Eddie forgets about the time difference all the time but Bill responds quickly with: ‘ _He looks happy. Wish I was there with you guys. Have fun!’_

Eddie decides he needs to take more pictures of their adventures, snapping possibly too many pictures of Richie and Mike with their chopsticks poised around their grilling meat at the Korean restaurant Mike picked out. 

“Trust me man, I’ve done this before. I know what I’m doing,” Richie insists. 

“If you give us food poisoning from undercooked meat,” Eddie says threateningly. There’s no meat thermometer on the table, is that legal? How do people know how much to cook it so it’s safe to eat? He would be more comfortable leaving it up to a professional but Richie did most of the cooking in Derry and it didn’t make them sick.

“I won’t,” Richie says confidently and Mike backs down to eat more of the dumplings they ordered. 

“What’s this?” Eddie points at one of the side dishes that came with their meal. 

“Kimchi. It’s like spicy sauerkraut,” Richie says. 

It’s not like spicy sauerkraut, Richie is full of shit and Eddie lets him know - it’s not bad though, once he adjusts his expectations. He doesn’t hate it at least. Everything else he tries is good, especially the meat, he likes wrapping it in lettuce and trying different sides and condiments with it and the concept of cutting food with scissors might actually be life-changing, especially if his left arm is going to continue being weak. 

“Just wait until we get to California and you guys try Korean-Mexican fusion,” Richie says around a lettuce wrap. Eddie and Mike exchange a bewildered look. “It’s fucking awesome, you don’t even know. Ask Bill.” 

Eddie texts Bill to confirm and he corroborates Richie’s claim: ‘ _I know it sounds weird but kimchi and cheese are delicious together. We have to go to Kogi when you guys get here!’_

“That’s fascinating,” Mike says. “Usually immigrants change their food to suit the dominant culture’s taste, like Chinese-American food or Americanized sushi. I’ve never considered that a densely populated area of immigrants would fuse their cuisines.”

“Jesus Mike, I should take an IQ test and see how high you raise it by the time we’re done,” Richie says. “I never think about this shit.” 

Eddie agrees. Mike is way too smart for them and the fact that he spent his entire life in Derry devouring the world through books or a screen makes Eddie deeply sad and ashamed. Eddie lived most of his life in the most populated city in the United States, in the most ethnically diverse urban area in the world, a huge cultural center for the country and he hadn’t even attempted to explore a fraction of what it had to offer. 

“I’m all for your culinary exploration, Mike, but if we leave Boston without getting _clam chowda_ I’m going to flip the car with my bare hands,” Richie says as they leave. 

“We can get clam chowder, Rich,” Mike chuckles. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of something you can get anywhere.” 

“Hey, screw you,” Richie says. “New England actually does some things better than the rest of the country. You’ll see the first time you get a craving for some good ol’ chowda in California and get served a bowl of watery bullshit.” 

“Where are we headed after Boston?” Eddie asks Mike. 

“New Jersey,” Mike says, voice reverent and Eddie comes up short, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

“What the fuck is in _New Jersey_?” Eddie asks like the New Yorker he is.

**Pine Barrens, Wharton State Forest, New Jersey, September 26th**

Eddie likes the outdoors, when he has the appropriate amount of sunscreen and bug repellant, but walking around Central Park during his lunch break and hiking in the middle of a New Jersey forest at night are completely different. Every noise makes him jump, his heartbeat skyrocketing over the rustling of leaves.

“I fucking hate this,” Eddie whispers, clutching Richie’s arm as they follow the rough wooded trail, the only light the narrow beams from their cheap flashlights. “This is fucking insane. They’ve lost their fucking minds.” It had seemed like a fun idea, picking up Bill from the Atlantic City airport. Bill and Mike’s excitement was infectious even through the boring tour of some historic village Eddie hadn’t bothered to remember the name of. He and Richie had sat through Mike and Bill excitedly talking about _the Jersey Devil_ all day, completely content to let them continue over dinner while they ate their, frankly fantastic, Italian food - who knew a little town in Jersey would have Italian food to rival New York City?

“Yeah, this is the weirdest mating ritual I’ve ever seen,” Richie says.

Eddie hasn’t heard them yelling ‘if you’re the devil, rattle your chains’ for a while but maybe that’s because they’re too far away now, moving deeper into the forest. They better stay on the trail. 

“It doesn’t even make sense,” Richie says, the beam from his flashlight steadily moving back and forth over the trail. “It’s not like people have only seen this thing at night. So why the fuck are we out here now?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie hisses. “It wasn’t my fucking idea. Who knows what the fuck they were thinking.” 

“You don’t believe, do you?” Richie asks, both of them freezing when they hear movement to their left, something rustling in the woods. It’s probably just a rabbit or squirrel. Eddie tries not to think about an adorable Pomeranian puppy turning into a monster. 

“No,” Eddie says, his voice wavering, nudging Richie to keep moving. His palms are sweating. “Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. It could be real.” 

“Yeah,” Richie breathes quietly, his head whipping around to look behind them. “After everything we’ve fucking been through who’s to say there isn’t a weird flying goat-horse monster with claws that runs around screaming and eating animals?”

“It doesn’t make sense though,” Eddie tells himself. “There’d be more consistency in people’s stories if it was the same creature.”

“ _Really_?” 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes shakily, thinking of the clown-leper-spider-whatever-you’re-scared-of-alien but there can’t be more than one of them, right? That’s not likely. Mike and Bill hadn’t talked about any missing or dead people, just the occasional eaten livestock or pet, knocked over garbage cans - which doesn’t make Eddie immediately think _dangerous creature_. “Fine, it could be real,” Eddie admits. 

“Could be,” Richie agrees. “It’s not fucking likely we’re going to see the damn thing though. This is a waste of time. Let’s just go back to the cabin.” 

“What about Mike and Bill?” Eddie asks, their steps coming to a stop. 

“They’ll be fine,” Richie says. 

“What if they wander off the trail and get lost?” Eddie asks. Why couldn’t they have just stuck together? Eddie knows he’s not the fastest walker right now, he’s still regaining his strength and stamina, but it’s not like Bill has the same long legs as Mike but he’d still marched into the darkness with him like he had something to prove. 

“They’re not that fucking dumb,” Richie says. “Shit ok, they might be, but there’s nothing we can do about it. If they’re not back by morning we’ll deal with it.” 

“Fine,” Eddie agrees, readily turning around. His legs are tired anyway. It frustrates him, a month ago he would have been able to run back to the cabin without too much trouble. Eddie likes running. His lungs are always able to fill themselves just fine when he’s running, maybe out of spite. Myra had been just as against Eddie joining a gym as his mother had been about gym class but he’d done it anyway, a small rebellion that propelled his legs to move faster.

“We should have stayed in Atlantic City,” Richie grumbles as they make their way back, a sudden gust of wind making the branches overhead bend to the side. Eddie shivers. He should have got a thicker jacket out of the car. “We could be in a big fucking bed right now with a view of the ocean while Mike and Bill run around the woods like maniacs.” 

“That sounds nice,” Eddie admits. He’s been to Atlantic City before for a conference but he hadn’t spent much time enjoying himself beyond the dull joy he had just from being away from home. “I’ve never been camping,” he says to fill the silence of the night. Shouldn't there be more crickets? “But if this is what it’s like then fuck that.” Most of Eddie’s outdoor experience as an adult has been confined to parks in New York, usually fighting for space on Labor Day or Memorial Day for one of Myra’s family gatherings he didn’t want to be at. 

“It could be fun,” Richie says, surprising Eddie. “My parents used to take me camping sometimes, when we moved to California. In Carlsbad. The campsite looked over the beach, it was cool.” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, the tone of nostalgia in Richie’s voice softening him to the idea. “We can go camping. But no woods. Unless we stay in a nice cabin and we don’t have to leave until sunrise.” Eddie was kind of horrified by the state park cabin setup. It technically has three rooms, a main room with a small table and chairs and a vinyl couch, and two bedrooms, one with a double bed and the other with bunk beds. The place feels tiny for four adults, even with Eddie and Bill taking up less room than Richie and Mike, and the fact that they don’t have their own bathroom, have to share what feels like a cold, dirty truck stop bathroom with everyone else staying near them grosses him out. At least they have their own room even if it’s small and the walls seem thin. ‘ _Remember, Eds, it’s about the experience,_ ’ Richie said when they’d been laying their newly purchased sleeping bags on the mattress.

“A cabin with a fireplace. Do people really fuck in front of fireplaces? Should we try it?” 

“It seems uncomfortable for whoever’s on the bottom. And sweaty, there’s a heat source right there.” 

“We can drag some cushions over. I don’t mind getting sweaty with you, Eddie my love. Do you want to fuck me in front of a fireplace?” 

“Sure,” Eddie agrees, letting his hand trail down Richie’s arm to hold his hand.

“You could sound more excited about it,” Richie says, intertwining their fingers. 

“I’m concentrating on not tripping over fucking tree roots,” Eddie bites back. 

“Our house has a gas fireplace,” Richie says casually and it makes Eddie’s heartbeat stutter like it always does when he talks casually about his house like it belongs to both of them. “Two actually. Not that I get much use out of them, it’s fucking Southern California and there’s central air. I usually turn it on for Christmas but we’ll be at Ben’s. Maybe we can fuck in front of his fireplace.”

“We’re _not_ fucking in front of our friends.” 

“It’s very revealing that your mind went to voyeurism, Eds,” Richie chuckles. “I was thinking if we had some time alone. Or fuck, it’s a fancy Ben house, maybe all the bedrooms have fireplaces.” 

“That’s not...We’re not fucking within feet of our friends, I don’t care if they can’t see it. You’re fucking loud.” Eddie's face burns, his mind replaying the moans Richie made when they had sex in New York. Maybe he’s being unfair, they were face to face, maybe Richie wasn’t being that loud, maybe it just felt like it to Eddie, each sound heightening his pleasure. 

“I can be quiet,” Richie insists. 

“Doesn’t it feel weird to have sex in the same house as our friends?”

“There’s no way they’d even know,” Richie says. “And if they did they’d probably high five us. I’m going to high five Ben and Bev if I hear any mattress squeaks from their room. _Wait_ , are we not fucking on this roadtrip?” 

“I…” Eddie starts. He hadn’t really thought about it. They’d had a separate bedroom from Mike in Boston but they’d been too tired to do anything but cuddle at bedtime, lazily kissing with no end goal. “I don’t know,” Eddie says uncertainly. They just started the sexual part of their relationship and Eddie loves it, he doesn’t want to take a break, he loves touching Richie and being touched by him. 

“Not even a blowjob? A _handjob_?” Richie asks, his voice too loud. Eddie hushes him even though there’s probably no one around to hear him. 

“Fine,” Eddie relents. Just thinking about it has blood rushing south, even if they’re still in the creepy, dark woods. They still haven’t used their mouths on each other, they both seem too thrilled to kiss still but they’ve jerked each other off a few times and he can’t get Richie fucking him out of his mind - sometimes it hits him like a punch to the gut when he looks at Richie, he can’t help thinking _he’s been inside of me_ , with a sense of awe. 

“We don’t have to,” Richie says, voice quieter, giving Eddie’s hand a gentle squeeze. “If you don’t want to.” 

“I want to, it’s not that. I just don’t want people to _know_. It’s fucking embarrassing. No one needs to know when we’re fucking, it’s...crass,” he says because he can’t think of a better word. Eddie has always tried to be more dignified than that.

“It’s probably safe to assume all our friends know we’re fucking,” Richie says. “They know we’re a couple.” 

“I know,” Eddie says defensively. “It’s fucking different. There’s the vague idea that we’re intimate together and then there’s walking out of the bedroom looking like we just fucked, ok?” 

“I get it Eds. You need to think up a good Christmas gift for me though because I was just going to ask to walk around all day like you fucking railed me.” 

“Jesus Rich,” Eddie groans, some of the heat he feels pooling in his groin escaping out his mouth. 

“Oh,” Richie says, voice dangerously low. He rubs his thumb down the center of Eddie’s palm. It shouldn’t feel so electric but it does. “Do you want to makeout in the woods?” 

“No,” Eddie says quickly. “We’re not doing shit in the woods, you’ve seen horror movies.” 

“We’re not horny teens,” Richie chuckles, soft and warm and it makes Eddie pick up the pace so they can get the hell out of here, Richie’s stride easily matches his. “Horny teens have to die in horror because they’re _sinning_ , it’s a warning to all the horny high schoolers watching. We’re horny adults, it's different. We’re gay though, and you’re still technically married so that’s probably enough for any machete-wielding maniac in the woods. It’s still worth it though, if I’m going to die I want to die with your tongue in my mouth and my hand down your pants.”

“Still no,” Eddie says, checking behind them. There’s no one there. “We’re getting back to the cabin and then we’re locking the door to our shitty room and I’m blowing you.” 

“ _Oh_ , ok, fuck, let’s go,” Richie says, suddenly tugging at his hand. 

Eddie is sweaty and a little out of breath from speed walking by the time they get back to the cabin but it doesn’t stop him from pushing Richie gently onto the weird state park cabin mattress; he wonders if he could buy a vinyl-wrapped mattress. It seems much more sanitary than a regular mattress but there’s also some cracks and peeling on the green surface and it makes a weird noise as they shift around on it, their sleeping bags unzipped and stacked on top of each other so they can still touch in their sleep. His left arm is already starting to shake from exertion as he holds himself up, hovering over Richie to kiss him deeply, but it feels good. This is a more rewarding workout than his physical therapy stretches, Richie’s tongue in his mouth as he kisses back. 

“We can lay on our sides,” Richie breaks away to say, his hands unzipping Eddie’s red track jacket and sliding under his shirt to feel his skin. 

“Fuck you, I’m fine,” Eddie huffs, catching Richie’s lips again, dropping his hips to grind his erection against Richie. Richie gasps a little into his mouth. “Quiet,” he reminds Richie, his heart pounding. He’s never been between Richie’s legs like this, felt his strong thighs spread for him. He’s been in this position before but this is different, this is Richie and Eddie aches with want as he grinds lazily against him. It takes effort to push himself up again, his shoulder aching, not unpleasantly. He pulls his jacket off and tosses it to the floor before his hands find the button and zipper of Richie’s jeans. It’s dark, they left the light off so Bill and Mike think they’re sleeping, but he wishes he could see Richie’s face. Richie lifts his hips so Eddie can pull his jeans and boxer-briefs off. Eddie reaches for his cock, feeling the familiar weight in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the wet slit. 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes out quietly. “I think the condoms are in the bag in the car.” 

“Do you want me to get one?” Eddie asks, enjoying Richie’s hot skin under his hand. 

“If you want one,” Richie whispers. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Eds.” 

Eddie decides no condom - they’re both clean, they checked, so might as well sate his curiosity about how Richie tastes. He’s a little salty with sweat but it’s not unpleasant at all as he licks a tentative strip up Richie’s cock. His skin is pleasantly hot. Richie breathes in sharply but remains quiet. He tongues at the head of Richie’s cock, tasting the salty slickness. 

“I’ve never done this,” Eddie whispers, wrapping a hand around the base of Richie’s cock. He can feel it throb under him. He’s had it done to him, once, and he’s seen porn so he has some idea of what to do, at least in general. 

“Just be careful with your teeth,” Richie says, audibly swallowing. “Keep air out of your mouth, you want a uh. A tight seal. And don’t be afraid to drool.” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose at the mention of drool, that doesn’t sound sexy at all but if it makes Richie feel good he’ll try not to care. He laps at Richie’s cock again before taking him in his mouth, doing as Richie said. He _sucks_ , why is it called a blowjob when you’re supposed to suck? And breathes through his nose, inhaling Richie’s scent - is this what people mean by musk? Eddie isn’t sure but he likes the way Richie smells, it’s distinctly masculine, it’s sexy. He slowly takes more of him in his mouth, mindful of his teeth, Richie’s admittedly substantial size making it a labor of love.

“Yeah, like that,” Richie whispers, breathing unsteadily. 

The encouragement makes him more confident, beginning to slide up and then back down again, trying his best to maintain the pressure in his mouth. He’s painfully hard, his cock straining against his jeans, he wishes he took them off. He gets what Richie said about drooling pretty quickly, giving up and accepting that it’s going to be gross as his saliva coats the hand still wrapped around the base of Richie’s cock. He tries to coordinate, pumping and sucking but it’s difficult to remain focused on both so he gives up. Mouth only for now, maybe he’ll be able to coordinate after some practice. He feels like he’s starting to get used to it, starting to find a rhythm that has Richie making quiet noises above him when his jaw starts to ache. He pulls off Richie to take a breather, his hand stroking his slick length. “You can move,” he says. “Do whatever you need to make it better.” 

“You’re doing great,” Richie says, his voice thick with lust. 

“But you could fucking help me, my jaw is starting to hurt,” Eddie says, licking at the head of his cock again before taking him back in his mouth, trying to resume his previous rhythm. 

“Are you sure Eds?” Richie whispers, his voice wavering. 

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, drawing another sharp gasp from Richie and a jerk from his hips. It surprises him but he tries not to let his teeth skim Richie’s skin. Richie reaches down and tentatively touches Eddie’s head, gently cradling it, fingers tangling in Eddie’s hair, just feeling, letting Eddie set the pace until it starts to slow again. Eddie lets Richie guide his head, his eyes closed as he concentrates on not using his teeth. 

“You can touch yourself too, Eds,” he whispers roughly. “If you want to. I can suck you off too if you want but...you can touch yourself.” 

“Mmm,” Eddie agrees, taking his hand away to unbutton his pants. He has to let go of Richie briefly to unzip himself and pull his pants and boxer briefs down over his ass, he doesn’t waste time trying to take them all the way off, just down enough that he can spread the slickness over himself and start pumping himself, his mouth suctioned back around Richie’s cock. He’s so hard and turned on. 

“That’s better,” Richie sighs quietly. “I want you to feel good too, Eds.” 

“Mmm,” Eddie hums although there’s no way Richie could possibly understand that what he meant by that was ‘ _thanks Rich, that’s very thoughtful of you but blowing you was making me feel fucking great without_ _even being touched.’_ It means his attention is divided now but if he slips up on the pace Richie helps him out, breathing heavily. 

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie is breathing out when they hear the cabin door open through the thin wall. 

“Their shoes are here,” Mike whispers, too loud - oh no, what if it was a regular whisper and the walls are just _that thin_? “They must have been tired and gone to bed.”

Richie’s hand stills but Eddie doesn’t stop.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” Bill whispers back. “I’m just starting to get tired, fucking jetlag.” 

Richie’s hands resume their guided help, his hips moving slightly. The sleeping bag rustles a little under them.

“It’s ok, we can stay up a bit, if you want.” 

Eddie is breathing so loudly out of his nose he wonders if they can hear it. It might be easy to pass off as snoring. 

“Ok,” Bill whispers back. “Do you want to talk in the other room?” 

“Yeah,” Mike chuckles. “Bunk beds make it feel like a sleepover, doesn’t it?” 

“Don’t wake mom and dad,” Bill chuckles and then their voices are muffled. 

“Jesus,” Richie breathes out quietly.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums back, his hand working himself faster. His jaw hurts like hell but his stubborn determination to finish what he started keeps him going. 

“Teeth,” Richie reminds him, his touch light on Eddie’s head in case he needs to pull up. 

“Mm,” Eddie hums briefly, concentration back on his mouth. He can jerk himself off mindlessly, sloppily, that’s fine, he’s so close anyway, working himself up with every huff of Richie’s breath. 

“Close,” Richie whispers, his voice hoarse, his rhythm picking up. “Eds, you should move.” And Eddie does because they’re nowhere near a sink and swallowing on his first time is probably too advanced. He pulls off of Richie’s cock with a wet sound, his lips feeling raw and his jaw aching. Before Richie can reach for himself Eddie uses the hand he still had around the base of Richie’s cock and pumps him quickly over the edge, Richie muffling his moans into his hand. He milks Richie’s cock, pushing everything he has out onto Richie’s stomach where his hoodie rides up. It doesn’t take much more for him to come too, spilling himself into the palm of his free hand so he doesn’t dirty the sleeping bag, already slick with what didn’t make it to Richie’s stomach. “Fuck,” Richie whispers shakily, his limbs going limp, chest heaving. Even in the darkness of the cabin Eddie can tell he’s fucking beautiful. 

“I wish I could see you,” he whispers.

“I’m glad you can’t,” he counters. “You fucking wreaked me, love.” 

That pleases him, that he did a good job on his first try, but maybe Richie is just being generous. “Fuck,” Eddie curses, looking around the room, the bliss from his orgasm and the praise starting to ebb away already. “No tissues.” 

“Shit,” Richie sighs, stuck there with come pooled on his stomach. 

“I’ll go get some toilet paper,” Eddie whispers. “Fuck, my pants.”

“I’ll help, come here,” Richie muffles his laughter.

“We didn’t think this through,” Eddie mumbles as he shuffles awkwardly off the bed with his pants half off, sliding his socked feet across the cold floor. Richie reaches over and pulls everything up, zipping and buttoning his pants and giving Eddie’s groin a little affectionate pat. 

“I’ll be back,” Eddie whispers, the come in his palm already runny and gross. He closes the door quietly behind him just as Bill and Mike open the door to their room. The light is on in their room, spilling out into the main room, making Eddie feel like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh, hey Eddie,” Mike says quietly. They’re both holding their toothbrushes and toothpaste. “Sorry if we woke you.” 

“‘S fine,” Eddie says, his voice high. 

“What are you holding?” Bill whispers, squinting in the darkness at Eddie’s conspicuously cupped hand. 

“Semen,” he answers right away, unable to think of a lie. Richie laughs loudly behind the door. 

“Se-” Bill starts. There’s a pause, the three of them still and silent, the only noise Richie laughing hysterically in the other room and then Bill and Mike start laughing too. And then because it’s either die of embarrassment or laugh Eddie laughs too. 

“I wish I was out there,” Richie says through the door. “I want to see all your faces. If someone could bring me some fucking tissues or toilet paper or something that’d be great. But close your eyes unless you’re Eddie or want to see my enormous wang.” 

“It is very big,” Eddie confirms because why the fuck not? This is his life right now, might as well lean into it. Richie howls with laughter. 

“Jesus,” Bill wheezes, wiping his eyes. “Are they always like this?” 

“No,” Mike chuckles. “They’ve been surprisingly chaste.”

“You heard him Eddie, Mike says he expects us to fuck in front of him.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie mumbles, considers turning the light on in the main room of the cabin and then thinks better of it, he doesn’t need Mike and Bill _seeing_ what’s in his hand, it’s bad enough they know what it is and can probably smell it wafting off him. He tries to shove his feet in his shoes one handed but gives up, sliding on Richie’s bigger shoes easily and letting himself out of the cabin, heading for the building with the cold, gross public bathroom. Mike and Bill follow him from a respectable distance, letting him get there first and wash his hands before they come in to brush their teeth. “Don’t judge me,” Eddie says as he relieves himself in one of the stalls because he’s not using a urinal right in front of his friends right now. 

“No one’s judging you guys,” Bill says around his toothbrush. The sound of Bill talking while brushing his teeth makes him feel nostalgic for all the sleepovers they had as kids. 

“Good,” Eddie says as he exits the stall, avoiding looking at them in the mirror as he washes his hands again. The lighting in the bathroom is weird and yellow and the light bulb is buzzing, the faux-glass mirrors faded and scratched, barely reflective at this point, adding to the surreal feeling that’s keeping him from freaking out more.

“We’re happy for you, Eddie,” Mike says. “Really.” 

“Yeah,” Bill agrees, his voice surprisingly emotional. “If anyone deserves happiness it’s you guys.” 

“Thanks Bill,” Eddie says, getting choked up suddenly, grabbing a bunch of toilet paper before slipping out the door to rescue the love of his life. 

**Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, September 27th**

They record the podcast the next day in an Old City hotel in Philadelphia, not far from Franklin Square. Bill had scoffed at the name of the hotel because of course as a professional writer he has opinions about misspellings and felt personally offended by the name ‘Lokal.’ Eddie is just glad he and Richie got their sexual needs filled last night because their bed turns out to be right out in the open living room while Mike and Bill’s twin beds are in their own private room. They shrug it off, it’s not like Mike and Bill haven’t seen them sleep before, even if this is completely different from sleepovers as kids. Eddie doesn’t let it bother him, bypassing the couch and stretching out on the bed behind it. 

“I’m surprised you’re already leaving New Jersey,” Bill says as Mike sets up to record. “It’s a treasure trove of urban legends and folklore.” 

“I’ll be back,” Mike says, his smile wide.

“It’s not worth it since they closed Action Park,” Richie complains, stretched out on the bed next to Eddie watching them. “I always wanted to go there.”

“It's an urban legend,” Eddie says and they all turn to stare at him. “What?” 

“It wasn’t an urban legend, Eds,” Richie says, the kind of maniacal grin on his face that makes Eddie not want to trust him. He must be fucking with Eddie, there’s no way a real water park allowed all the shit he heard about growing up to go down - underage drinking, dangerous rides that caused serious injury and deaths, a waterslide with a loop that people got stuck in, go-karts that leaked gas and a water ride with exposed electrical wires. There’s no way, it would have been shut down day one. 

“You’re fucking with me,” Eddie says. “There’s no way.” He looks at Bill and Mike for confirmation. 

“It was real,” Bill confirms so Eddie turns to Mike. 

“They’re telling the truth, Eddie,” Mike says. 

“No way,” Eddie shakes his head. Action Park was an urban legend kids at school talked about, another fake thing his mother clung to as proof that water parks weren’t just disgusting but too dangerous for Eddie to set foot in. 

“It was real,” Mike repeats. “There are videos of it, and pictures, people really went there.” Richie laughs at the look on Eddie’s face as he lets it sink in. 

“Did people really die?” Maybe it was blown out of proportion, maybe it wasn’t that bad.

“Yes,” Mike says and Richie stops laughing at the horrified look on Eddie’s face. 

“You broke the risk analyst,” Richie says, nudging Eddie’s foot with his.

“ _How_?” Eddie asks. “How was it able to operate? There’s no way they could get insurance.” 

“That was a problem,” Mike confirms. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, still feeling shocked when he notices Richie has his phone out and pointed at him. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Capturing the moment you discovered Action Park was a real fucking place.” 

“Fuck you,” he says, hitting Richie with a pillow, knocking the phone out of his hand. He’s allowed to take his time absorbing the fact that this was something his mother didn’t lie to him about. 

Eddie watches again, he doesn’t have anything interesting or funny to add to the conversation as Mike and Bill enthuse about the legend of the _Leeds Devil_. The stories are creepy, as is the description of the creature, and Eddie can’t help the conflict raging in his head; the rational part of his brain that says _this can’t be real_ and the other part that says _if the clown was real this could be real_. He doesn’t want to think about it, all the other freaky shit in the universe that could exist. If this trip turns into Mike trying to hunt down monsters Eddie might have to quit, although the thought of Mike alone in the middle of nowhere unsettles him, Mike wandering the woods by himself looking for something dangerous. He’s already faced one monster with these guys and he’d much prefer to go to museums and historical sites and try new food but if push came to shove Eddie would face down a hundred more monsters if he had to, for his friends. 

Thankfully there aren’t any cryptids in Philadelphia that Mike wants to hunt down so they head to the African American Museum. Eddie doesn’t know what to say as they move through the museum, taking in the mix of historical exhibits and more modern art and photography. He’s never talked about it with Mike, what it was like for him growing up in Derry - bullied for the color of his skin, how he felt about the story of the Black Spot and his father’s narrow escape, how he felt being one of the few black kids in Derry. Mike had always just been one of them - the final piece in the puzzle that summer, the one they’d been missing and hadn’t known it yet until suddenly the Losers Club was complete. They’d all been outcasts but he never considered how Mike felt about being the only black member of the group. 

“You guys are too quiet,” Mike says. “Did you just realize I’m black?” 

“You’re what now?” Richie gasps dramatically, making them all chuckle. 

“Jeez Mike, I hadn’t noticed,” Bill jokes. 

“Just checking,” Mike says, the tension Eddie hadn’t realized was there lifting. He must not have been the only one in his head. “There’s a Jewish history museum too, should we go?” 

They go to the museum, it feels right to do it. 

“I was the only one who went to his bar mitzvah,” Richie says, stopping in front of the bar mitzvah exhibit. 

“Why didn’t we go?” Bill asks, frowning at the display.

“Because _someone_ punched me in the face,” Richie answers and Eddie is taken aback. He didn’t go to Stan’s bar mitzvah because his arm was broken and he wasn’t allowed out of the house, not that his mother wouldn’t have tried to stop him anyway. 

“Someone punched you in the face?” Eddie asks, unsure how that connects to Stan’s bar mitzvah. 

“You didn’t know?” Richie turns to him with wide eyes and Eddie looks at the others to see if they have any idea what he’s talking about. Bill is staring at the floor, a pained expression on his face. 

“Would I have fucking asked if I knew?” Eddie asks, a sinking feeling in his gut. 

“Bill punched me in the face,” Richie says, his voice too high. “After you broke your arm.” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie turns on Bill. He can’t express the feeling of betrayal. Big Bill punched Richie in the face? He was Eddie’s hero growing up, the ideal big brother and best friend tied into one, he can’t reconcile that version of Bill with the one who would punch one of his best friends in the face. 

“He started it,” Bill says. “He pushed me.” Richie and Eddie scoff. 

“Eddie almost...Jesus Bill,” Richie says, the color draining from his face. “Eddie almost died. And then he _did fucking die_.” 

“I..” Bill stares at them, eyes wide with horror. “Fu-fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“You punched Richie in the face because he was upset It almost ate me?” Eddie asks. 

“No, no, that’s no-not,” Bill takes a deep breath, closing his eyes a moment before he continues, steadier this time. “That wasn’t why but it was still stupid.”

“It drove a wedge between us,” Mike says. “We were weaker on our own.” Eddie isn’t sure if he means IT or ‘it,’ the act of Bill punching Richie in the face but he’ll be damned if the clown takes the blame. 

“I’m sorry, Rich. I never apologized for it back then,” Bill says and Richie shrugs. 

“It’s fine. My point was you guys missed Stan’s awesome as fuck bar mitzvah speech. Eddie gets a pass because he was under house arrest but the rest of you should have been there.” 

“We should have,” Mike agrees as they move on to a different exhibit. “I talked to him. Before I left Derry. It was...It was really good.” Mike's voice wavers and Bill moves closer to Mike, his hand on Mike’s back.

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie says, moving close enough to squeeze Mike’s arm. 

“Thanks guys,” Mike gives them a small smile. “He said that too. But if I hadn’t...I just wish we could have all been together again.” 

“We were,” Eddie says. 

“Ok, this is getting too sad,” Richie says. “We’re not all crying in the museum. Stan wouldn’t approve so let’s get a move on and then eat something non-kosher to honor him.”

Stan was inconsistent about keeping kosher, sometimes he would eat non-kosher snacks they brought to the barrens and other times he would frown for a long time, some internal debate going on inside until he refused. Eddie thinks ordering a chicken cheesesteak would honor Stan better until Richie tells him it’s not kosher either. “It’s about the _way_ it’s killed,” he tells them. “Nothing here is kosher so you might as well get whatever you want.” Eddie gets the same traditional cheesesteak as all of them because when in Philly. 

“Better than Denny’s?” Eddie asks Richie. Eddie hadn’t tried Richie’s sandwich but he can’t imagine it would be anywhere near as good as an authentic Philly cheesesteak. 

“Fuck me, Denny’s is dead to me,” Richie says. 

After a day of cramming in as much Philly as possible, plus mini-golf at Franklin Square, Eddie doesn’t think they could possibly fit anything else in. He’s exhausted, he just wants to shower and cuddle with Richie, he doesn’t care that their bed is in the living room, but their night isn’t over yet because Bill drags them into a bar.

“This was so much fun,” Bill says again, on his second beer. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you could join us,” Mike says, exactly like the last time Bill said he had fun. 

Eddie exchanges a look with Richie, although from Richie’s expression they’re not on the same page. Richie is on his third whiskey and he keeps looking at Eddie with that look, like he can’t quite believe he’s there, their chairs so close together their legs are pressed together under the table. Eddie has been nursing the same glass of mediocre red wine - he doesn’t even know what kind, the bartender had just said ‘white or red?’ which is never a good sign. 

“Have some water, Rich,” Eddie slides his water glass closer to him. 

“I’m fine, I’m not drunk,” he says but he still drinks some. 

“I wish I could join you guys for longer,” Bill says. 

“You could. Mike is working on the road,” Richie says. It’s true, in between all the sightseeing Mike has been taking research days and editing days, leaving Eddie and Richie to fill the time however they want. It’s been nice, going on little excursions with Richie. When they were in Boston they took a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard and walked around Oak Bluffs, holding hands walking around the town. They’d been confused and disappointed by the lack of vineyards, lamented that Gay Head Lighthouse was on the other side of the island, but Eddie had still had fun because Richie was with him. 

“I can’t,” Bill says. “I have too much to write.” 

“And you have a wife,” Eddie says because Richie seems to have forgotten Bill can’t just pick up and be on the road for months. “I’m sure he wants to spend time with her before she’s filming in England. Or are you going with her?” Maybe when Bill offered to let Mike stay with him he meant for Mike to house-sit for them. 

To his surprise Bill bursts into tears. 

“Dude,” Richie says. Bill leans forward, puts his head in his hands and cries. It’s clear none of them know what to do but Mike is sitting next to him and he puts an arm across his shoulders, pulls him in for a side hug. Bill leans into him.

“You ok, Bill?” Mike asks. 

“Thi-things are bad,” Bill says. “I to-to-told her everything.” 

“Oh shit,” Richie says. “Did she believe you?” 

“I do-don’t know. She said she di-did but the way she lo-lo-looks at me... _fuck_.”

“That’s fucking rough, bro,” Eddie says. 

“I didn-didn’t tell her but...I kissed Beverly.” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie says. “Does Ben know?”

“I don’t know,” Bill sighs and straightens up, wiping his eyes but still looking miserable, tears slowly tracking down his face. It breaks Eddie’s heart like it did whenever any of his friends cried when they were little, a prickle of sympathetic moisture in his own eyes. 

“So now you, what? Have a fucking thing for Bev?” Richie asks, voice appalled. He mutters something under his breath that sounds like ‘fucking straight people,’ but Eddie can’t be sure.

“No!” Bill says quickly. “It’s no-not like that. We were just...I don’t know. Reliving shit. We ki-kissed that summer. This didn’t mean the same thing. Bu-but... _fuck_. It made me look at Au-Au-Audra and...I don’t know,” he says looking at all of them with such abject misery it physically hurts Eddie’s chest. “Maybe we’re ju-just not compatible. I...I love her but...I don’t know.” 

“Have you told her how you feel?” Mike asks. “Maybe you can work it out. Go to couples counseling.” 

“It-it’s not just me,” Bill says, his lower lip quivering but he holds himself together. “Sh-she’s unhappy too. I can tell.” 

“What are you going to do?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You should talk to her,” Mike says gently. 

“That would be the adult thing to do,” Richie agrees. “But what do you _want_ to do?” 

“Ignore it or...I don’t know. I don’t fucking know, man. I don’t...I don’t know what I want.” Bill reaches for his beer and drains the rest of it, still leaning into Mike. 

“If you’re not sure you want to be married to her you probably don’t,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.

“Eddie, my love,” Richie says. “You can’t just say shit like that. Let him figure it out himself.” 

_Oh no_. A thought occurs to Eddie - now when he meets Audra he’s going to be the asshole who told Bill he should just leave her. 

“It’s ok, Eddie,” Bill sighs. “You might be right. Sometimes...Maybe two people can love each other and still not be right for each other.” 

“Do you want another beer?” Richie asks, throwing back the rest of his drink without flinching. Eddie has never been good with hard alcohols, most of them burn. 

“I shouldn’t,” Bill says. “My flight is early.” 

“Let’s head back,” Mike says, patting Bill’s back. 

Bill seems better in the morning, sheepishly telling them he’s going to talk to Audra. As he was falling asleep last night he could still hear Mike and Bill talking in their room. Eddie is glad he’s taking Mike’s advice, which is much more mature than Eddie’s. 

“Sorry I woke you guys,” Bill says, hands wrapped around his cup of steaming coffee. “I um…” he laughs, eyeing Richie and Eddie across the table, both of them still in pajamas, eating donuts that Mike had gone out at six AM to buy because he’s that kind of saint. “I wasn’t expecting Richie to be the little spoon,” he says. “It was cute.” 

“We switch,” Eddie says and then blushes. Eddie loves being the big spoon, loves burying his face against Richie’s warm skin and wrapping his arm around him, feeling the rise and fall as he breathes, his chest hair under his hand but he also loves Richie’s arm wrapped around him, the press of Richie’s wide chest against his back. It’s clear from the neutral expression on Bill’s face he has no idea what Eddie just implied but Richie almost chokes on his donut, sending a plume of powdered sugar across the table. 

**Asheville, North Carolina, October 6th**

After Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Richmond, Eddie was beginning to think that Mike was developing a taste for cities but last night when their Haunted Asheville tour guide had told Mike there was a town under a lake just an hour and a half away he had jumped at the chance. Standing on Fontana Dam, staring at the lake that flooded the town makes Eddie feel strange. The smattering of early October yellow among the giant expanse of green forest is beautiful, as is the lake but it leaves him feeling unsettled. 

On the boat ride to the hiking trail their guide encourages them to look in the water, see if they can see any signs of the town that once stood there but Eddie can’t look, even after he double checks that no one died in the flooding. The tour guide assures him no one died in the flood but not all of the graves were moved in time. He has to hold Richie’s hand, floating on top of those dead bodies. Did the water erode the earth? Did caskets wash ashore somewhere? Standing in the relocated graveyard doesn’t make him feel any better - ‘ _You son of a bitch, you left the bodies and you only moved the headstones!_ ’ Eddie hated _Poltergeist_ but Richie and Bill had loved it.

Can a lake be haunted? There were people out on it, fishing from boats, riding around on rental boats enjoying the warm fall day. Do they know there are bodies down there? 

“You alright, Eds?” Richie asks as they hang back, letting Mike talk with the tour guide, an elderly man who had said ‘it’s nice to see brothers so close,’ when Richie had helped Eddie into the boat with more touching than was strictly necessary. 

“I’m fine,” Eddie says, turning his back on the cemetery - he’d declined walking among the graves. He likes these shoes, he doesn’t need to look at them and think about walking on dead people. Somehow this is worse than hiking in the Pine Barrens and that had been at night. Eddie looks up at the treeline, the afternoon sunlight filtering in, takes a deep breath, coughs because it’s _cemetery air_. “This place is creepy.” 

“Do you want to get out of here? We could wait by the boat.”

“We’re not leaving Mike to get murdered in the woods,” Eddie says. 

“Mike could totally take that guy,” Richie says a little too loudly and Eddie hushes him although it doesn’t seem like the other two heard him. “Besides, this isn’t fucking _Deliverance_.” 

“I’ve never seen that,” Eddie says absently, walking around the perimeter of the graveyard to follow the tour guide to their next destination. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Richie says so emphatically it takes Eddie by surprise. “You’d hate it. I hated it, it wasn’t worth young Burt Reynolds, Jesus. Now I know why backwoods towns freak me out so much, beyond the obvious reasons.”

Standing on the porch of the Calhoun House and peering through the door at the dilapidated interior Eddie isn’t the only one experiencing a wave of _oh fuck, not again_ because neither Richie nor Mike enter. Logically he knows there’s nothing lurking in the house, no real danger, it’s not 29 Neibolt Street but he’s still not going in there and he’s glad Richie and Mike feel the same, Mike listening politely to the guide talk about the history of the house while Richie keeps looking over his shoulder. 

Civilization has never looked so good to Eddie as he drives them back into Asheville. It feels good to be behind the wheel again, back in control. 

Before this trip Eddie’s days had been predictable and ordinary, now he’s never sure what the next day is going to bring, what the next hour will bring sometimes. If Mike or Richie had asked what he thought they’d be doing this evening while they were eating their soggy sandwiches by Hazel Creek there’s no way Eddie would have said ‘watching a drag show in a gay bar with a belly full of French food,’ and yet here he is. 

“Should I try drag?” Richie leans over and asks. “It looks fun.” 

“Yes,” Eddie says over the sound of a Madonna medley, transfixed by the drag queen on stage.

“You’d be great at it,” Mike grins. Richie had laughed when they pulled into the parking lot, asking if it was weird for Mike to go to a gay bar across the street from a Baptist Church but it hadn’t bothered him, it’s hard to bother Mike. 

**Orlando, Florida, October 17th**

To say Richie goes all out for Disneyworld is an understatement. Eddie has to admit he has a point though, none of them got to go on Disney vacations as kids and Richie _is_ a celebrity so the private VIP tour is justified even though it makes Eddie feel guilty passing the people waiting in line and it breaks some of the kid-like wonder he lets seep into his heart when they go through the backstage areas. It’s a sensory overload from the time they enter to fireworks at the end, from a private viewing area, but Eddie loves every exhausting second of it - except when he thought Richie might throw up on him on Space Mountain. It’s hard to say it made him feel like a kid again because there’s no way he would have been allowed to ride most of the rides they go on. It took him effort to get out of his head, even as a kid, to stop worrying so much about everything that could go wrong; so in a way it’s better than being a kid because Eddie laughs loudly, screams with abandon on every rollercoaster, his cheeks hurt from smiling so much by the end of the day. And on top of it all he gets to kiss Richie and drink an overpriced cocktail with Richie and Mike when they go back to the resort. 

When Eddie sees the ocean off the Florida coast he has to admit he gets it - it’s nothing like the grey-green of the East River he’s known all of his life, so close to the Atlantic Ocean that Eddie rarely saw. Maybe if he ever spent time at Brighton Beach he would have enjoyed himself but Eddie had always been too concerned by the crowds and pollution and Myra never wanted to go anyway. None of those things concern him standing on Daytona Beach. Mike’s wonder at it borders on reverent when Eddie watches him sink his bare toes into the sand, staring out at the ocean. 

“Everything you hoped it would be?” Richie asks. 

“Even better,” Mike smiles at them, moisture in his eyes.

They didn’t plan on getting in the water but it’s too tempting in the Florida heat, the water blue and inviting. Eddie and Mike have never been in the ocean. It’s colder than he thought it would be but it feels nice, watching the waves rush in to cover his bare feet, and then his ankles as they walk closer. Richie is gone, headed back in the direction of the boardwalk in search of beach towels because they didn’t come prepared. There isn’t any experience in the world he doesn’t want with Richie but the moment feels different with Mike. Richie has been in the ocean, Richie has been places and done things; which doesn’t make his life any better, Eddie knows that he was lonely. They were all lonely. Sharing the moment with Mike feels special though, the two of them wading up to their calves, looking out at the endless shining blue. 

“Are you going to move here?” Eddie asks. 

“I’m not ready to commit,” Mike says. “But this is nice.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, staring down at his legs in the water. There’s a wavy distortion to his skin. He looks even paler than usual. “You could go anywhere. Not just in the US. You could go anywhere in the world.” 

“I could,” Mike agrees. “You can travel cheap if you need to. Stay in hostels. There’s hostels all around the world. I looked into it.”

“How do you even choose?” Eddie asks, burying his toes in the sand again. What would Eddie do with that amount of freedom? He doesn’t even know. There are too many options. He really just wants to be wherever Richie is. “It’s a big world.” 

“I don’t know. I’m just making it up as I go along. I didn’t plan anything. For after I called all of you.” 

Why would Mike look into traveling abroad but not plan anything? Eddie opens his mouth to ask about the hostels but he closes it again. Because he wasn’t sure if he would live but he wanted to dream. 

“I couldn’t have done it,” Eddie says before he can stop himself. 

“Couldn’t have done what?” Mike asks, taking his eyes off the horizon to look at Eddie. 

“Been the last one,” Eddie admits, feeling stupid. Mike doesn’t need reminding about that. “I don’t think I would have lasted with all that pressure on me. I would have lost my mind.” 

“There were times I thought I was,” Mike says but there’s no regret in his tone, no bitterness. “For what it’s worth, you could have done it. There’s nothing special about me. I just saw what needed to be done and I did it. Any of you could have done it, if it came down to it.” 

“No fucking way,” Eddie objects. “Jesus, Mike. I would have crumbled. Most of us would have crumbled on our own. The fact that you made it out. You’re the strongest person I know. The most responsible, humble, handsome loser in the world. Come here,” Eddie says, going in for a hug. Mike readily hugs him back. Mike gives good hugs. “I love you, dude.” 

“I love you too, Eddie,” Mike says back. 

“Hey!” comes a shout from the shore and they part to look at Richie, standing there with multiple towels hanging over his shoulders. “What the fuck? I was gone for like fifteen minutes. If you kiss I’m drowning myself.”

When Richie wades out to join them, the towels piled on the sand with their shoes, Eddie splashes him and then kisses the salt water off his lips before Richie can splash him back. 

“Would you hate me if I dunked you right now?” he asks, his hands on Eddie’s shoulders. 

Eddie braces himself. “Don’t you fucking dare, my phone is in my pocket. Rich. Don’t.” 

“I can buy you a new phone,” Richie grins, that familiar glint in his eyes that means Eddie is in trouble. 

Eddie pushes Richie off balance and bolts for the shore, Mike’s startled laughter following him, Richie’s indignant yell and the splash that follows making him feel guilty until he sees Richie’s phone sticking out of one of his shoes. The cargo shorts and the tie dye t-shirt that Richie picks out from the sidewalk, his clothes still dripping water, feels like appropriate punishment. Eddie doesn’t even try to buy him anything else, respecting Richie’s choice, however stupid, Richie’s credit card in his hand as Richie watches him from the store window. 

“Here,” he hands the bag over. He’s sure Richie will appreciate the shark boxers he picked out for him.

They wait outside a public bathroom, Eddie eyeing a shop advertising ice cream, fudge, and saltwater taffy, the smell of fresh waffle cones wafting out of it.

“What is it?” Richie asks when Eddie won’t stop staring at him. “Did I miss a tag?” He looks down at his clothes. 

“You’re hot,” Eddie says, his face heating up. “It’s not fair. No one looks good in tie dye.” 

“You’d look good in tie dye,” Richie says, a hint of color on his cheeks but it could be the start of a sunburn. “Mike would too.” 

Eddie still doesn’t think he looks good in it but people are too busy looking at Mike and Richie in their tie dye t-shirts to pay him any mind. 

The trip to Everglades National Park undoes his appreciation for Florida because there are dangerous wild animals down here and they’re everywhere! One of the first urban legends he heard when his mother moved them to Queens was the albino alligators in the sewer system and at the time he couldn’t remember why that terrified him so much, it wasn’t like he would ever end up in the New York City sewer system. Sometimes he would imagine he saw slitted yellow eyes in the storm drains, gator eyes. It had faded to the back of his mind by the time a four foot alligator was pulled out of Kissena Park in the nineties, in his own fucking borough, and then there had been another one in Central Park a few years later, and then Queens again! Six years ago a baby crocodile was found under a car in Astoria and Eddie and Myra considered moving, that was too much, a wild crocodile in their own neighborhood. None of them had been found in the sewer but still, it gave him enough to worry about.

Richie seems almost frantic to do things in Orlando, in between day trips, to always be moving and busy and when Eddie asks about it he’s surprised when he cries but doesn’t want to talk about it. All Eddie can do is hold him and tell Richie he loves him and be assured that it’s nothing to do with Eddie. It unsettles him though and he’s glad when they leave. 

**New Orleans, Louisiana, October 27th**

New Orleans is a blur of colorful activity for the first few days because they discovered the existence of Halloween New Orleans from their hotel in Gulfport, a multi-day LGBTQ fundraiser for Project Lazarus - a nonprofit helping people living with AIDS. It feels like fate that they arrive on the first day as Richie scrambles to get them tickets. 

Being repressed and closeted Eddie never sought out the company of other gay men but he finds he likes it, being surrounded by people like him - confident, friendly people who make Eddie question why he was so scared of this. It feels surreal to be making small talk with a stranger one minute and then being pulled into a photo op the next because Richie got recognized and it’s _news_ that newly out comedian Richie Tozier is at this fundraiser. It makes him stupidly happy though, how happy Richie seems to be to smile for the camera with his arm around Eddie. The number Richie writes down on his donation slip makes Eddie a little light headed but he’s incredibly proud to be there and after a couple glasses of wine he can’t help but talk up his hot, single friend Mike to anyone who will listen - who looks amazing in his last minute tuxedo rental, as does Richie. Mike politely talks to everyone and the next two nights he dances with a few men before they leave early because they’re forty and Richie seems uncomfortable. Eddie has never been to anything remotely like a club and it’s _loud_ and even though it’s for a good cause he’d rather be back at the hotel with Richie where it’s quiet and they’re comfortable taking their shirts off - his mind truly reels at all the shirtless men dancing like it’s totally normal. It should be normal, he tells himself. Good for all the people out there enjoying themselves. 

He feels whiplash when they switch to historical New Orleans, following Mike’s interest in jazz, learning about the history of Voodoo, but he loves every second of it. He really gets the appeal of New Orleans, despite the stickiness he can’t quite shake - and he thought he’d gotten used to the humidity in the south already. The food is amazing, the people are friendly. He’s never seen anything like Creole architecture, everything feels unique. 

“I might move here,” Mike says as they sit on the patio of a café, coffee and fresh beignets in front of them. 

“We’ll visit if you do,” Eddie says and Richie nods enthusiastically. 

“This is a million times better than Maine,” Richie says. 

“There were no alligators in Maine, but Richie is right,” Eddie agrees. 

**Houston, Texas, November 2nd**

When Mike and Richie asked Eddie what he wanted to do on his birthday he surprised even himself when he picked Schlitterbahn Waterpark in Galveston. Eddie has never been to a waterpark - why would he? They’re cesspools of germs, even when they’re not dangerous like Action Park, but he finds he loves it. He loves the water slides and the water coasters and floating lazily on a raft through the park and the funnel cake. He doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun on his birthday. Stretched out on the bed back in the hotel he knows he’s never forgetting this birthday. 

“You like that, Eds?” Richie asks, kneeling between Eddie’s legs.

“Yes,” Eddie gasps as Richie eases another ball against his entrance. It feels so good, being penetrated again and again and again, each time stretching him more. When he’d been standing in the aisle of the adult store he hadn’t known how much he would like this, what it would feel like, he just read ‘anal’ on the box so he added it to his armful of purchases. Now Eddie knows, he knows how good it feels to have something pressing against his sensitive skin, slipping slowly inside him, stretching him out and with his anal beads he can feel it over and over again. The way Richie is looking at him makes it even better. 

“Can I push the button?” Richie asks and Eddie nods, his hips jerking involuntarily when Richie turns on the vibration. 

“Fuck,” Eddie rasps out, his fists tightening around the handfuls of blankets he’s holding. Richie eases another ball inside, the ball vibrating softly against his hole, buzzing through him as it slides inside. “Richie,” he whines. 

“What is it, love? Do you need something?” Richie asks, his voice low and warm, his bedroom voice. 

“Touch me, please,” Eddie manages to say and Richie leans forward, taking Eddie’s throbbing cock in his mouth, leaving behind the pool of pre-cum pooling on Eddie’s stomach. He moans loudly, he can’t help it. It feels like too much, the buzzing coming from the toy and Richie’s hot, wet mouth around him. He’s not going to last much longer. Richie still has a hand on the toy and as he presses the last ball against Eddie’s hole, pushing it through slowly, Eddie comes in his mouth without warning, Richie’s name on his lips. “Fuck,” he says again, his body feeling boneless. He watches Richie swallow with only a slight grimace, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “That was so good,” Eddie sighs. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. That was so fucking hot,” Richie says. “I thought this was your birthday, why am I getting presents? I’ll do this any time you want, sugar. Should I take them out now?” 

Eddie nods, enjoying the feeling of each ball slipping out of him, warm at the silly endearment he’d picked up from one of their Texan waitresses. When he’s empty he sits up slowly, facing Richie, still kneeling in between Eddie’s legs. Eddie kisses him, dipping his tongue inside to taste himself on Richie’s tongue. He pushes Richie’s chest gently and Richie doesn’t need any convincing to lie down. Eddie frees Richie’s cock from his boxer-briefs. He feels painfully hard as Eddie kisses the leaking tip, licking the salty slickness off his lips. 

“You don’t have to,” Richie says, already breathing hard.

“It’s my birthday,” Eddie says, kissing the underside of Richie’s cock, licking at the foreskin, drawing a gasp from him. 

“The birthday boy wants to suck cock?” Richie asks, half propped up to look at Eddie. Eddie nods, taking Richie in his mouth. It’s sloppy and wet but from the noises and quiet encouragements coming out of Richie’s open mouth he likes it. Eddie only gags a little when Richie comes in his mouth in hot bursts and he doesn’t hate the taste too badly, probably because it’s Richie and he’s staring at Eddie with so much adoration it makes Eddie feel even more naked than he already is. 

**Queens, New York, November 8th**

The Holiday Inn near JFK Airport isn’t where he thought he’d get the news his divorce has been officially finalized but here he is. The date was on his calendar, he knew it was going to happen but knowing something is going to happen and having it actually happen is different. 

He can’t stop crying, curled on the white bedspread, his face pressed into a pillow. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t feel happier, maybe it’s because Richie isn’t there; he’s on the other side of the country, the furthest from touching distance and Eddie is overwhelmed by how much grief he feels. Grief for himself, for those years he forced himself to be someone else, grief for lost time, grief for Myra. 

His eyes are still red rimmed and he’s sure he looks like a mess when he walks into the closest liquor store and sets down a bottle of La Fuerza wine at the checkout, in the smallest size they have because he’s not trying to end up like Ben who had very matter of factly told them all he was going to rehab last month. He hadn’t even been able to tell Ben had a drinking problem, none of them had, but that was the problem - he’d never heard the term ‘high-functioning alcoholic’ before. Eddie has never heard of La Fuerza but it has a shirtless, flexing man on the label and it’s exactly the kind of thing he would have avoided looking at, as best as he could, a few months ago so it’s what he buys, not even feeling embarrassed about it as he pulls out the nice new wallet Richie bought him before they left New York.

Calling Richie should be his next move when he gets back to his room with his wine and his bag from Burger King but Eddie can’t bring himself to do it right now. He sits on the bed, the flattened bag a makeshift placemat on his lap and eats his sloppy steakhouse burger and chicken fries and sips at his melting strawberry milkshake and wine and pointedly avoids watching election coverage, not that there’s many channel options. 

Voting was weird this year, and not just because he was doing it at a different polling place than usual. The mood was strange but he hadn’t put much thought into it - or maybe he’s wrong, maybe the part of him that was always attuned to his city is already disappearing after almost two months away. It’s the longest he’s ever been away from New York since he moved here in high school. He hasn’t missed it as much as he thought he would but maybe that’s because he’s been busy and with Richie and Mike. Maybe he’ll get to California and hate it. Richie said they could move if Eddie doesn’t like it but would Eddie really uproot Richie’s life more than he already has? Is he that selfish? Maybe. He’s not sure anymore. He’s not sure who he is right now. 

He half watches an infomercial and half watches the mirror next to the TV, staring at the stranger in the mirror enjoying his fast food and wine and not caring about the crumbs on the bed. It takes him a while to realize the volume is muted and he’s just been listening to the sound of cars rush past on the expressway. When he’s done he dumps half the bottle of complimentary body wash into the running bath and gets in, staring at the smooth, white fiberglass wall, listening to the drip coming from the tap and feeling his heart beating - perfectly fine, it’s perfectly fine, he’s always been perfectly fine. He’s fine.

By the time he’s in California his copy of the judgment will be waiting for him at Richie’s house. As if he can feel Eddie thinking about him, Richie video calls him as he sits on the edge of the bed in his underwear. Eddie rejects the call and calls Richie back, no camera. The moment he hears Richie’s voice he regrets it, he wants to see him, but seeing without touching might be more painful. 

“Everything alright, love?” Richie asks when Eddie’s stilted attempts at sounding normal fails.

“Yeah,” Eddie says automatically, which is undermined by the choked sob that escapes his throat a second later. 

“Eds?” Richie says, his voice panicked and Eddie’s vision swims, the memory of Richie calling his name in the dark while Eddie was bleeding out under Derry coming back stronger than he’d experienced at the time.

“I’m fine, it’s ok,” Eddie says, taking a few deep breaths. His lungs work just fine. “I got an email from my lawyer’s office today. The judge ruled on my divorce. It’s final.” 

“Oh,” Richie says, letting the silence drag out between them while Eddie gets up to grab some tissues. He presses the phone awkwardly against his cheek while he blows his nose which he’d normally never do because blowing your nose into a phone is disgusting but he’s listening to Richie breath on the other end and he doesn’t want to lose the sound. “You don’t sound happy about it. Having second thoughts?” The forced lightness in his voice hurts. 

“No,” Eddie says. “I…I don’t feel happy though, Rich, I feel - I don’t know. Weird. Sad.” He doesn’t know how to explain it so he just listens to the sound of Richie existing.

“Didn’t you want it though?” Richie asks, his voice strained and it’s clear he doesn’t get it, which is fine because Eddie hasn’t explained at all. 

“Rich, sweetheart,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. He’s never called Richie any terms of endearment before. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to but maybe he is and maybe it’s ok for the words to taste strange in his mouth because he’s never said them to someone he loved like this. “I’m glad it’s over. I wanted it, I still want it. I don’t want to be married to her, I just - I feel. Sad. Not because it’s over. It’s just...Even when my mom died I still cried. I still grieved. Not for her, not really, it was more for me. For the mother I never got to have. I don’t know if that makes sense.” 

“It does,” Richie says, his breathing still sounding shaky. 

“I guess...I’m just having a pity party for myself. And Myra. I feel bad for hurting her but...I know it’s selfish but I feel sad for myself more. All that time I wasted being someone else.” 

“You’re allowed to have a pity party. I wish I could join.” 

“I wish you could too. I miss you, Rich,” Eddie says, lying down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. 

“Is your pity party catered?” Richie asks, his voice still tight. 

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, letting the tears fall without fighting them. “I had Burger King and wine.” 

“Burger King has wine in New York?”

“No,” Eddie laughs again. Maybe he’s feeling a little hysterical. “I got the wine at a liquor store.” 

“I ordered some tacos because all the food in my fridge was bad. They’re always soggy by the time they get here but they were pretty good. Tacos in Texas were good too.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, the two of them falling silent again. Eddie listens to Richie breathing on the other end. He was an idiot for not answering the video call, it’s not like Richie hasn’t seen him cry before.

“Do you ever want to get married again? Or was that a one time deal?” Richie asks and Eddie is glad he can’t see how pathetically bad his lip trembles. 

“I would do it again,” Eddie says, unable to keep his voice from shaking. He laughs again. He doesn’t know why, maybe he’s losing his mind a little. “If you wanted to.” 

“I want to,” Richie says. “Eventually. I don’t want to move too fast or people will think it’s a shotgun wedding.” 

Eddie laughs, really laughs, full body shaking, tears streaming down his face until his stomach hurts kind of laugh. He feels insane. Half sobbing, half laughing, all hysterical. “I love you,” he says when he can get words out.

“I love you too, Eddie my love. Love of my life.” 

Eddie doesn’t feel any sexual desire at the moment but he still says “I wish you were here. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t see,” because it’s true somehow even though it doesn’t make sense and he doesn’t want to be blind. 

“That sounds good,” Richie says even though it doesn’t make sense. Even when he doesn’t make sense sometimes Richie knows what he means, he’s always been like that, able to reach the same wavelength as Eddie like no one else has. 

**El Paso, Texas, November 10th**

Eddie doesn’t want to be touched gently. It was fine in the Austin airport when they’d reunited, Eddie had gladly pressed himself into the tender hug, was content to cuddle and kiss Richie that night in the hotel because everyone was subdued and tired. 

Something about the alien landscape of Texas, the ceaseless dry heat, pushed him over the edge again. 

“Harder,” he says into Richie’s neck, slick with sweat. He bites it again, hard, pulls roughly on his hair. 

“Jesus,” Richie pants, fucking into him roughly. Richie has ground Eddie into the mattress, Eddie’s legs spread wide, his knees almost touching his shoulders, filling the room with the obscene sound of flesh pounding against flesh. It had taken some coaxing to get him to this point but it’s not enough, Eddie wants more, he wants to feel more. He pulls Richie’s hair, really pulls, and Richie cries out, twisting his head away from Eddie, grabbing his wrists and pinning them next to Eddie’s head, his grip painfully tight, putting too much weight on them. It feels amazing. His glasses are slipping off his nose, eyes wild, lips red and swollen from where Eddie bit him. “Is this what you want, you little shit?” he thrusts harder, rougher. Eddie can only moan loudly in response, his back arching off the bed, his chest rubbing against Richie’s. “You fucking animal,” Richie growls, latching onto Eddie’s shoulder and biting hard. It hurts, really hurts. His vision goes spotty and he thinks he might technically be yelling more than moaning when he comes so intensely his toes cramp from curling. He’s never come like this, without even touching his cock. Richie grunts against his neck, his entire body tense as his hips snap against Eddie, driving himself over the edge. 

There’s a blissful moment of stillness, Richie’s cock still buried deep inside of him, breathing heavily into Eddie’s neck. Eddie has never felt like this before, like he’s been fucked so good he doesn’t know or care who he is. Every muscle in his body feels relaxed, boneless, like he’s melting into the bed as he lets his legs down. He comes back into himself when Richie releases his wrists, curls around Eddie, crushing him with his weight in an entirely pleasant way. “I’m sorry,” Richie exhales, voice shaky, his entire body starting to tremble. 

“For what?” Eddie asks, wrapping his arms around him. They’re both slick with sweat. Eddie runs his hand down Richie’s sweaty back, trying to smooth out whatever’s bothering him.

“I lost control,” Richie says, his voice strained and muffled. Eddie runs a hand to cup the back of his neck, running his fingers through Richie’s wild, damp hair. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You didn’t hurt me,” Eddie says, turning his head awkwardly to kiss Richie’s cheek. It’s not entirely true, Richie did hurt him but it was exactly what he wanted. “I’m alright, Rich. It was fucking amazing.” 

“What if you bleed?” Richie asks. 

“Then I bleed,” Eddie says. “I’ll deal with it.” 

“Eddie...I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. 

“Rich, sweetie, look at me,” Eddie coaxes his face away from Eddie’s neck, Richie’s weight lifting off him enough to look at Eddie. He looks completely wrecked. It makes Eddie’s cock pulse and then he feels guilty. He cups Richie’s face in his hands. “You didn’t hurt me. You gave me exactly what I was asking for. If I’m bleeding, I’m bleeding. It’s too late to do anything about it. It was worth it. Ok?” Eddie watches his throat work to swallow as he nods. “You don’t always have to be under control, Rich. You’re allowed to let go too. Ok?” Richie closes his eyes hard for a moment but he nods. “I love you so fucking much,” Eddie says, leaning up to kiss him sloppily. 

“I love you too,” Richie says and then he slowly lifts off of Eddie, sliding out and eyeing his cock like he doesn’t trust it. There’s no blood on it and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You good, love?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He can feel the wetness of Richie dripping out of him. No condom was his idea, he’d been so hungry for it, to feel Richie come in him for real. It feels a little strange but he likes it. “Will you start the shower?” 

“Anything for my spaghetti man,” Richie says, giving Eddie a small smile, kissing him one more time before Eddie watches him walk into the bathroom, admiring the shape of him. 

Mike gives Eddie an amused look when he eases himself onto the hard wood chair at the restaurant they picked for dinner, wincing and letting out a deep breath. It doesn’t bother him. Mike watched Eddie limp his way to the elevator after he’d knocked on Mike’s door without comment. Thankfully not right next to his and Richie’s room. Eddie hadn’t even made an attempt at being quiet so maybe Mike heard anyway down the hall. If he did he doesn’t mention it. Usually Eddie would be grateful Mike is allowing him to remain dignified but tonight he doesn’t care.

“This is so fucking good,” Eddie says, digging into his burrito covered in cheese and green chili sauce. The mango margarita is also amazing. He’s never been this ravenous. Not even the car’s headlights illuminating the gravestones in the darkness across the small brick wall separating the restaurant’s parking lot from the graveyard had put him off his appetite.

Richie keeps giving him meek looks to his side and he’s too quiet. Eddie reaches under the table and rubs his thigh, holds his hand, leans over and kisses him when he’s finished his margarita. 

“We’re in Texas, if you hadn’t noticed, Eds,” Richie says but he hadn’t pulled away when Eddie kissed him. “Can you try to contain all the gay until we’re in California?” 

“I cannot be contained,” Eddie says, loud shocked laughs from Richie and Mike drawing more attention than their kiss. 

By mutual understanding they plan on cutting the rest of the trip short, speeding through Arizona. They’ve passed too many billboard’s that make them groan or sit in uncomfortable silence, too many ‘Sinners Repent,’ too many ‘MAGA’ billboards in between the cities. Mike looks tired for the first time this trip and when Richie asks if he’s alright he says he’s just feeling burned out. 

Eddie doesn’t like the dry, cracked landscape, it makes him feel like even more of a martian. 

Martian Eddie has two needs: food and cock. He blows Richie early the next morning before they leave for Phoenix, going about it with the enthusiasm of someone who was lost, had just crawled out of the desert starving and thirsty and found themselves at a buffet. Richie returns the favor, one hand interlaced with Eddie’s, Eddie’s other hand stroking Richie’s hair affectionately, pushing his hair out of his face - it’s longer now, Richie keeps talking about getting a haircut but Eddie loves it the way he loves everything about Richie. It feels amazing, the hot, slick pressure around him. He tells Richie then, tells him how much he loves him, tells him how good he is, what a good job he’s doing, an endless stream of endearments until he’s spilling himself into Richie’s hot mouth. 

Eddie sleeps for hours in the back seat of his car, an open bag of alligator jerky next to him, Mike and Richie talking in hushed tones in the front seat.

“You alright back there, Eddie?” Mike asks when the rustling of the bag of jerky alerts them he’s awake. 

“I think I’m having a midlife crisis,” Eddie says around a mouthful of alligator. It’s delicious. Like a bird and a fish had sex and their offspring was terrifying but tasty. Maybe that’s how alligators exist. They lay eggs like birds. Like dinosaurs. What would a dinosaur taste like? This is as close as anyone will likely get unless _Jurassic Park_ technology ever becomes a reality. Sport hunting was part of that cinematic universe but why didn’t anyone ever think about eating one? If someone offered him a chance to eat a dinosaur right now he would do it. He wonders what the bison jerky he bought tastes like so he rifles around in the bag for it, gets distracted by the ostrich so he opens that one instead. 

“How’s that treating you?” Mike asks, his voice neutral. 

“Ok, I guess. Jerky?” He offers both bags to the front seat and they both take some. There’s no other descriptor he can think of that would explain how he’s feeling. Everything feels wrong and buzzing but numb; he’s no stranger to numbness, he’s gone years being mostly numb. This is different, maybe because he actively doesn’t want to be. He was happy just a few days ago. On the road with two of his favorite people, going to places he never would have on his own, trying new things. He can’t feel sad. He can’t use his new lease on sadness, it would be a disservice to Stan. He just wants to feel normal, he wants to feel good. 

“If you need anything let us know, ok?” Mike says, glancing at Eddie in the rear-view mirror. 

“Can you turn up the music?” Eddie asks and Richie reaches for the knob, drowning out the chaos in Eddie’s head. It would be impolite to ask Mike to pull over so Richie can sit back here with him and makeout so he shoves more jerky in his mouth and chews, watching the scenery pass by, counting down the hours it’ll take to get where they’re going and he can climb on Richie’s lap and feel something again.

**Buckeye, Arizona, November 11th**

“We never stayed in a motel,” Eddie says, sitting on the edge of the small Holiday Inn pool. It’s warm out but not humid, not like it was in the South. The concrete around the pool feels pleasantly warm. 

“You wanted to stay in a motel?” Mike asks, sitting on Eddie’s right side, his legs dangling in the pool with Eddie’s and Richie’s. 

“For the experience,” Eddie says. 

“You didn’t get enough experiences on this trip, Eds?” Richie asks on his other side. 

“I did,” Eddie says.

“What about you, Mike? Would a motel have enriched your experience?” 

“I’ve never considered a motel an exotic location,” Mike says. “I didn’t really care where we stayed as long as the location was good. And the WIFI worked. What about you, Rich?” 

“What about me? I’ve stayed in a motel before. It’s not exciting or special.”

The appeal of a motel is the proximity to the car. At any point Eddie could decide he’s leaving and walk out the door, get in the car and go. That’s exciting to him. It’s no different than living in a house though, now that he thinks about it. At any point he could have left his house in Queens and been on the road but he never did. He never would have, if Mike hadn’t called. Most people don’t have to die in order to choose freedom. He slides off the edge, into the pool. It’s not deep, he has to fold his legs but he lets himself sink, his eyes closed against the chlorinated water. He holds his breath, testing the limits of his lungs until he can’t, standing up quickly for air. He takes a deep breath, eyes shut tight, feeling the water rush down his face from his wet hair before he goes back down. This time he screams.

“Everything ok, Eds?” Richie asks when he comes back up, gasping for air. 

“I’m fine,” he says. His throat feels raw. “I want a shower.” He gets out of the pool, dries himself as best he can with the cheap hotel towel and slips on the sandals he bought in Florida. “Richie?” 

The headboard keeps hitting the wall so they switch to fucking sideways, Eddie facing the window, sunlight leaking in around the edges of the curtain. He feels just as breathless as he had underwater, Richie’s hands gripping his waist, his cock driving into Eddie from behind. “Rich,” Eddie moans, struggling to stay upright. It feels so good. “Pull my hair. Please.” Richie does it, threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair and yanking his head back, just how he wants. “Yes,” he moans. Richie likes it when he lets him know he likes it. He seemed a little hesitant to fuck Eddie from behind. Eddie understands. They haven’t done this before. They like kissing, like looking at each other, but it feels amazing. He’s sure he’s making ridiculous faces. 

“Say it again,” Richie pants behind him, driving his cock in faster. Deeper. He can get so much deeper like this. 

“Yes,” Eddie groans. 

“No,” Richie says, fucking Eddie harder. “My name.” 

“Rich,” Eddie moans. He feels like he’s on fire. It’s difficult but he props himself up with one arm, pumping his aching cock with the other. He already feels so close. He comes with Richie’s name on his lips, repeating it like a prayer, soiling the hotel bedspread and not caring a bit about it. 

**Beverly Hills, California, November 12th**

At first Eddie doesn’t think Richie’s house is that extravagant. The neighborhood is unassuming, modest but private looking homes behind gates and greenery. Almost all the houses are one story. Eddie was anticipating intimidating mansions but he’s glad Richie lives more modestly. Eddie is extra appreciative of the greenery after the flat expanse of desert - loving the mix of tropical looking plants and ordinary trees. They’ve been driving _up_ for a long time though when Richie pulls onto Carla Ridge and still they go up until it starts to flatten out and Richie pulls into a driveway, getting out quickly to get the mail before getting back in and entering the code on the gate. Eddie has two pieces of mail with his name on it and it fills him with awe. He lives here too now. The proof is on his lap. 

The house is shaped like an L from what Eddie can tell, most of the front yard space taken up by blacktop. The exterior is starkly white against what has to be Richie’s bright red Corvette under the large carport. Next to it is a black Prius. “Ah, the duality of man,” Mike says when Richie parks Eddie’s car to the side. 

“At least I don’t have a Hummer,” he says, snickering to himself. 

Eddie’s opinion on the entire place changes when they walk in and he sees the view. “What the fuck?” He almost drops the bag of In N Out Richie insisted they pick up on the way. All of LA seems laid out in front of him, a clear view of the high rises of downtown and beyond that the Pacific Ocean, all visible from the couch. 

Eddie stands in the backyard, the grass impossibly green, next to the pool and looks down. Well, he doesn’t know what he expected, Richie lives on _a ridge_ , it was in the street name. “Is this place earthquake safe?” he asks when he comes back in. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Richie says and Eddie hadn’t noticed before but he seems nervous. 

“This place is amazing, Rich,” Mike says, looking around them. Eddie hadn’t even looked at the décor. It reminds Eddie of some of the hotels they stayed in - tasteful and masculine but impersonal. 

“It doesn’t feel like _you_ ,” Eddie remarks. 

“I hired a decorator,” Richie says. He’s shrinking in on himself again so Eddie sets down the food and gets in his space, wraps his arms around him and pulls him tight. 

“I love it, Rich.” Eddie says. “That fucking view. I don’t want to know how much you paid for it.” 

“You really don’t,” Richie says, hugging Eddie back. Eddie can feel him relaxing. “We can throw out anything you don’t like. We can throw out everything. Except me, I’m the only piece of shit you can’t get rid of.”

“I’d never get rid of you,” Eddie says. 

Bill is impressed when he gets there too, shortly after them. Eddie immediately notices Bill isn’t wearing his wedding ring. It shouldn’t be that surprising, he and Audra’s separation began last month after Bill came back from Philadelphia. They sit on the patio and eat their burgers, looking out at the view.

“Shake Shack is better,” Eddie says when Richie asks him what he thinks. 

“Alright. Eddie, you’ll be leaving with Bill now. We’re over,” Richie says, stealing Eddie’s chocolate shake. “Glad you didn’t bother unpacking.” 

“Fine,” Eddie says, stealing a mouthful of Richie’s ‘animal style’ fries, whatever that means. They’re good. “Do you see all that out there?” he gestures to the view before them. “There’s plenty of dick in the sea. I’m gonna suck and fuck LA dry.” He regrets joking about it when the smile slips from Richie’s face, his expression pinched as he drinks Eddie’s milkshake. 

He tries to make up for it when Bill and Mike leave, crawling onto Richie’s lap on one of the chaise lounges by the pool and kissing him softly, whispering his love against Richie’s jaw. “I’d never leave you, Rich,” he mouths against his neck, his hands unbuttoning Richie’s shirt. “We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives together, remember?” 

“We are,” he confirms, the tension leaving his body, his hands warm under Eddie’s shirt, caressing his skin. Eddie pulls away to pull his shirt over his head - the one Richie bought him at the Harvard Museum of Natural History, white with a map of the minerals found in the Americas. 

“Can I make you feel good?” Eddie asks, palming the bulge in Richie’s jeans. Richie nods, his breathing picking up. “Do you want that? Do you want my mouth on you?” _Only you_. He doesn’t need to say that, Richie knows he’s the only one for Eddie. 

“Yes,” Richie breathes, his hips rocking against Eddie’s hand. 

Sex had always been the same before, a repetitive chore Eddie avoided but he’s quickly learning there’s no one way to suck Richie’s cock. He takes him slowly this time, lazily, like they have all the time in the world. He savors the taste, the fresh breeze. They haven’t done this outside before. “You’re going to ruin the view for me,” Richie says, running his hands through Eddie’s hair, staring down at him lovingly. “It’ll never be as good as this again.” Eddie hums a pleased sound around his cock, movements unhurried. Richie already feels relaxed under him, leaning back, bare legs spread wide for Eddie. Eddie has never been naked outside and he finds it surprisingly enjoyable, the sun on his back. He’s not wearing sunscreen but he doesn’t care. Maybe when they’re done he’ll float in the pool and stare at the sky, work on his tan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Richie's house.](https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1860-Carla-Rdg-Beverly-Hills-CA-90210/20534373_zpid/?) Not how I picture it being decorated but I wanted to find a house for easy visualization.


	7. The Dark Side of the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie begins to settle into Richie's life, Richie's insecurity reaches a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like The Dark Side of The Moon (by Pink Floyd) is a concept album, this is a concept chapter. Warning for a panic attack, and emetophobia (not graphic), Richie’s low self-esteem finally imploding, and a lot of communication.
> 
> Dropping [some visuals early.](https://hannahsblog.tumblr.com/private/637958539030265856/tumblr_O0bYvludbWwwMx3V7) Plus [Eddie's sunglasses.](https://solsticesunglasses.com/collections/men-sunglasses/products/oakley-garage-rock-oo-9175-square-sunglasses-700285789330) And [the Gucci shirt](https://www.gucci.com/us/en/pr/men/ready-to-wear-for-men/shirts-for-men/bowling-shirts-for-men/hawaiian-print-bowling-shirt-p-609040ZAEMP9142) because they wouldn't fit on the page.

_I never said I’d be alright_

_Just thought I could hold myself together_

Me & My Dog - boygenius

Waking up next to Richie always makes him feel sleepily blissful but there’s an extra layer of it the first time he wakes up in their bed. He feels pleasantly sore between his legs. Last night’s sex had been different again, achingly slow and tender and Eddie had loved it just as much as when he’d been trying to taste Richie’s cock through the opposite end of his body, when he’d been trying to split himself open so Richie could just live there in the middle of Eddie - where he belongs. 

The fancy looking clock on Richie’s bedside table says it’s almost nine AM and Eddie feels annoyed at it - the concept of time. It keeps carrying on like he’s not trying to savor Richie as much as possible, trying to make up for the lost years without him. He ignores his bodily needs in favor of watching Richie sleep, a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. As much as he loves spooning Richie, waking up to see his face is even better. He leans in and kisses his cheek gently. Richie jerks awake, headbutting Eddie. 

“The fuck?” Richie says, voice thick with sleep. 

“Ow, fuck you. I was just kissing you,” Eddie glares, rubbing his forehead. 

“I was having a dream my old drama teacher was yelling at me,” Richie mumbles. “And then a flock of parrots attacked her. I thought one landed on my face.” 

“Me kissing your cheek doesn’t feel the same as a bird landing on your fucking face,” Eddie says. 

“You don’t know that. Has a bird ever landed on your face?” he blinks sleepily at Eddie. Eddie’s not really annoyed, he loves him too much. Richie can headbutt him as much as he likes.

“Of course not.” 

“Could be the same then,” Richie rubs his eyes. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, don’t fucking headbutt me or swat me away, I’m not a bird,” Eddie says before kissing Richie softly on the lips. His stubble scratches Eddie’s chin. “I’ll make breakfast,” Eddie mumbles against his lips. 

“Thanks, love,” Richie smiles at him, soft and sleepy and Eddie almost bites him. It's too cute. He loves him too much.

It keeps hitting him with a thrill as he gets ready for the day, that this is his house too now. His fancy counter in the bathroom, his electric toothbrush next to Richie’s. He was too tired to unpack last night but Richie’s huge walk in closet is only half full, like he’s been waiting for Eddie to come along and fill it up. 

The kitchen is well stocked from their trip to Trader Joe’s yesterday. Eddie grabs the protein powder out of the pantry and everything else he needs to make healthy fruit smoothies for breakfast. He’s almost got it blended right - is there a wrong way to blend it? He’s never made a smoothie before but how hard could it be? He followed a recipe anyway, just in case. When he hears the doorbell ring. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to think, staring at the man standing on Richie’s - _his_ \- front doorstep. He’s shorter than Eddie, big brown eyes open wide, thick eyebrows furrowed and dark hair slicked to the side. He stares back at Eddie, over the vase of flowers he’s holding. The gate is closed, a silver Audi parked on this side. He must know the code. There’s a keyring on one of his fingers, the key to the front labelled ‘Rich.’ He’s also wearing a wedding ring. Eddie intensely dislikes him.

“Who the fu-” Eddie starts then stops because there’s no need to be rude. Even if this is an ex-lover Richie failed to mention. Richie is with Eddie now, that’s all that matters. “Sorry, who are you?” 

“Um,” the guy stares at him, blinks his big eyes a few times before shifting the flowers around to stick out his hand. “I’m Steve Covall, Rich’s manager.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, automatically shaking his hand. Eddie’s grip is firmer. Good. “I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, Rich’s fiancé.” 

“Fiancé?” Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Yes,” Eddie says, not budging from the doorway. They’re both wearing light yellow polo shirts. 

“Co-congratulations,” he says. “I um. I thought Rich wouldn’t be home until tomorrow...I brought flowers.” 

“Mhm,” Eddie says, making no move to take the flowers from him. The guy is sweating and it’s not that hot out. It makes Eddie perversely satisfied. He stands aside to let him in. Steve squeezes past him. 

“Hey, Eds, what’s for-” Richie says, walking out of the bedroom, sadly fully clothed - Eddie would have liked Steve to see the love bites on Richie’s shoulder. There’s one slightly visible under the collar of his shirt. “Oh, hey Steve.” 

“Morning, Rich,” Steve grimaces, setting the flowers down on the coffee table. “Um. Welcome home. Congratulations. On the engagement.” 

“Engagement?” Richie asks. 

“You’re...You’re engaged, right?” Steve asks, pointedly not looking at Eddie. 

“Oh shit! We’re engaged!?” Richie looks at Eddie, eyes big. 

“Yeah, dickwad, we’re fucking engaged.” Eddie rolls his eyes. What did Richie think ‘we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together’ meant? Or their literal talk about getting married when Eddie found out his divorce was final. 

“We’re engaged,” Richie confirms, beaming at him and then Steve. 

“How, um...How long have you…” Steve says weakly. 

“Relax, Stevie boy,” Richie says and something ugly and possessive jumps under Eddie’s skin. “Eddie has been my dream guy since I was like twelve so don’t get your panties in a twist. He’s not some rabid fan here to steal my fortune and ruin my name. He doesn’t even like my work, do you Eds?” 

“It’s terrible. His ghostwriters should be publicly shamed,” Eddie says. “Do you want anything, Steve? A drink?” Eddie is still acquainting himself with the house but he knows where the kitchen is, and the glasses and the bar-cart. Forget that it’s before noon. He might have a mimosa later. _This is my house, I live here, I can do what I want._

“No thank you,” Steve says. “I should get going. I didn’t know you’d be home yet. I um...I’m happy for you two, really.” 

“We should have you and David over for dinner,” Richie says. 

“That would be -” 

“Or at your place,” Richie interrupts. “I can buy new shit though. To keep it kosher. No nuts, right? You’re allergic to nuts.” 

“You -” Steve looks startled. “That’s right. You don’t need to do that, Rich. We can have you over.”

“Look how smoothly I invited us over to their house, Eds, that was so easy. It worked on Stan too. If you wanted to have dinner at Stan’s you just invited him to eat at your house.” Richie has a point. It made Stan more tolerable to Eddie’s mother, his quiet, polite nature and the fact that never outstayed his welcome. “I’ve never been allowed in Steve’s house before.” 

“Maybe we should just go to Pat’s,” Steve says, making Richie laugh. 

“Wow, invitation rescinded already, ok. We can go to Pat’s.”

“After you workshop some new material,” Steve says. “You have been working on your own material, right?” 

“Yes, dad,” Richie says. 

“I have to check, Rich,” Steve says, that nervous tone back in his voice. 

“I know.”

“I have some interviews lined up, if you’re up for them. Also. Salvatore has been calling me,” Steve says and Eddie doesn’t know who that is but a serious look crosses Richie’s face. “There’s a new animated show on Netflix interested in you as a guest star.” 

“Really? I’ll do it. If I don’t he’s going to cut my balls off, right? That’s what he said when I cancelled the tour. That and ‘you’ll never work in this town again Tozier, you piece of shit.’” 

“He was mad. I was mad too,” Steve says, staring at his Gucci loafers. They look nice, he has good taste in shoes. “I’m sorry, Rich. Again.” 

“It’s fine,” Richie smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I pay you to keep me on track and to get me on stage, not to baby me when I’m freaking out. You do that for free.” 

It prickles under Eddie’s skin again, that hot jealous feeling. This Steve person has a shared history with Richie. They’ve been through things together, they have inside jokes and references. He got to know Richie while Eddie couldn’t remember him, could only feel that hollow, empty, missing feeling and not know why. Maybe this is part of what Richie had felt looking at Myra.

“I shouldn’t have held you back like that,” Steve says, real regret in his voice. “I was wrong. I’m sorry, Rich.” 

“I know,” Richie says. “It’s fine. Whatever. I forgive you and shit. Stop trying to make me cry, asshole. Go home to your cute husband and your herd of Pomeranians.” 

“A tuft,” Steve says. “A group of Pomeranians is called a tuft.” 

“Of fucking course it is,” Richie groans.

As soon as Steve leaves Eddie has his hands on the back of Richie’s head, kissing him deeply. Richie makes a little sound of surprise but he kisses Eddie back, wrapping his arms around Eddie. “Did you fuck him?” Eddie asks, his lips still brushing Richie’s. Richie gasps and pulls back, Eddie letting his grip on him go. 

“ _What the fuck? No_ ,” he says quickly. “He’s my _manager_ , Eds. That’s a fucking recipe for disaster. Also he’s _married_ and before he was married he had a long-time boyfriend and _fiancé_.” 

“I was just asking,” Eddie shrugs like it wouldn’t have bothered him. He’s being completely unfair and hypocritical. “He looks like me. Did you notice?” 

“He doesn’t look like you,” Richie says. “Your faces are totally different.” 

“You had no way of knowing exactly how my face would look at forty. It’s close enough.” 

“Fine, Eds. My subconscious looked at the small, dark haired guy with the big eyes and a neurotic streak and thought ‘yeah I want him to take care of me, this feels right,’ are you happy now?” Richie sounds defensive, his arms crossing over his chest. 

“Yes,” Eddie says. “I’m always happy with you.” Eddie watches whatever tension Richie was holding onto deflate. 

When Richie asks what he wants to do today he’s surprised when Eddie says he wants to go shopping. “We went shopping yesterday,” he says, hands busy washing the blender. Eddie likes watching Richie’s hands. He was only slightly skeptical about the smoothie but it seems like he enjoyed it. 

“Not groceries. Take me to Rodeo Drive. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in Beverly Hills?” 

“Eds,” Richie laughs, “it’s row-DAY-oh, not row-DEE-oh. There’s no fucking clowns, thank fuck.” 

“Fine, _Rodeo_ ,” he exaggerates the correct pronunciation, letting the Queens creep into his accent to see Richie laugh again. “The two things I know about Beverly Hills are _The Beverly Hillbillies_ and Rodeo Drive.” 

“We can go if you want. It’s just a bunch of _luxury designer stores_ ,” he says in an exaggerated voice that for some reason sounds like Vincent Price to Eddie’s ears. 

He already has his finances separated from Myra, he’d taken care of getting his new debit and credit card sent to his new address - which he still needs to legally change but it’s only his first full day here and right now he just wants to go shopping. He looked in his suitcase this morning and hated almost everything.

Eddie has to consciously slow down his walk, taking in the palm tree lined street full of high end stores. Now that he’s regained his strength and stamina it feels unnatural not to power walk like he would in New York but he came here for leisurely shopping, holding Richie’s hand as they meander past shops and stop when Eddie’s impulsive curiosity takes over. 

Richie doesn’t judge him, doesn’t tell him to slow down or try to talk him out of buying anything beyond remarking “those are pretty expensive for something that’s going to be touching your balls,” about the light pink silk boxers in Eddie’s hand. When Richie feels them he grabs his own in a leopard print. Eddie buys underwear and a pastel purple turtleneck from Tom Ford. He buys a pair of _driving shoes_ from Gucci - he didn’t even know that was a thing but he loves them. He also buys a Hawaiian print bowling shirt that on Richie looks dangerously close to a crop top but on Eddie’s shorter torso looks only slightly shorter than a normal shirt. 

The non-commentary on Eddie’s purchases ends when Eddie walks into Tiffany’s and starts looking at rings. “Eddie, love, darling,” Richie says quietly so the sales associates don’t hear. Eddie’s heartbeat picks up when he calls him ‘darling.’ “Maybe we should shop around for rings, see all our options before you impulsively buy us rings we’re going to wear for the rest of our lives, alright, my dear _fiancé_?” 

“Ok,” Eddie says, feeling warm all over. “We’ll just look.” 

They don’t buy rings but they do buy each other bracelets, simple silver chain bracelets with a blank bar for engraving. They don’t have to consult each other about what to write, both writing down ‘R + E’ on the customization form. Eddie also picks up a sterling silver crazy straw because it looks fun and he wants it. Richie only stops him from buying a sterling silver yo-yo. 

“Eds,” Richie laughs. “There’s no way you can use that, it’s way too heavy.” 

“Oh,” Eddie stares at it, the shiny metal surface and the little Tiffany’s blue stripe on the string. “But I want to buy you a yo-yo.” 

“You can buy me a yo-yo if you want but it should at least be one I can use. I was always shit at it though, I never got good.” 

“What if you use it as a paperweight?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t need a paperweight, sugar. Also...I could buy you a box of straws like that for under $5,” Richie whispers the last part. 

“This is more environmentally friendly,” Eddie insists. 

“Ok, ok. How are you going to clean it though? Are you going to stick your $300 straw in the dishwasher?”

“Yes,” Eddie says like it’s obvious. He buys the straw and the yo-yo for Beverly, for Christmas, she’ll appreciate its refined style.

Richie promises they can go back to Williams Sonoma once they make a list of kitchen items they need but they walk out with a tin of peppermint bark and several cookbooks Eddie wanted - including _The Newlywed Cookbook Favorite Recipes for Cooking Together_ which made Eddie teary when he picked it up, thinking about him and Richie in the kitchen together. They go out for sushi for lunch. Eddie finally tries sashimi and finds he likes it. The texture isn’t that different from lox and he’s had that plenty of times, he’s from New York City after all and you can’t go too long in New York City without a bagel with lox and a schmear or they kick you out.

Neither of them sees the paparazzi, they don’t find out they were photographed until they’re home and Richie’s Twitter notifications start blowing up. He’s posted plenty of pictures of Eddie on Twitter and Instagram; all nameless, just referring to Eddie as his boyfriend, but this is different, Richie didn’t take these pictures. There’s a picture of them holding hands and walking down the street, coming out of Tiffany’s asking questions like ‘Who is Richie Tozier’s boyfriend?’ and ‘Is Richie Tozier’s boyfriend about to become more? The pair was spotted ring shopping on Rodeo Drive.’ The pictures aren’t great, they’re all from across the street but Eddie always likes the way he and Richie look together. 

“Must be a slow celebrity sighting day,” Richie says. “I only end up in these things when no one else is doing anything interesting.” 

He knows when Beverly sees it because she immediately calls him. “Aren’t you and Ben getting married? Isn’t it just assumed?” he asks when she lays into him that they didn’t tell anyone they were planning on getting married. 

“We’ve talked about it,” Beverly says. “We probably will. Eventually.” 

“Well same,” Eddie says. “It’s not like either of us surprised the other with a proposal. We just talked about it. We’re going to get married. Eventually.” 

“How soon?” Beverly asks.

“I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. Maybe next year?” He turns away from the view in the backyard, watches Richie at his laptop inside going over the interview questions Steve sent him, a look of concentration on his face. Eddie loves him so much.

“That’s pretty soon, Eds. It’s November.” 

“I know. I feel ready. I don’t want to wait,” he says. He hadn’t realized until he said it - how ready he is. “I want to be married to him. I want to be Edward Tozier.” 

“You’re taking his name?” Beverly sounds genuinely surprised. 

“Yes. Myra refused to change her name back from Kaspbrak. I’ve always hated being a Kaspbrak. Being a Kaspbrak sucks. I want to be a Tozier. You want to go back to being a Marsh? Or keep your name after…” 

“No,” Beverly sighs. “I looked into changing my name to _just_ ‘Beverly’ but it’s hard to do, the government doesn’t like people with one name. I don’t want to be Beverly Rogan or Marsh. Beverly Hanscom sounds better but...Beverly Rogan needs to stop being Beverly Rogan before she can be Beverly Hanscom. If you know what I mean.” 

“I know what you mean,” Eddie says. 

Richie shoots down eloping to Las Vegas tomorrow or the next weekend. He has a point. Eddie wants to be surrounded by their friends too, take wedding pictures he’ll be proud to hang in their home, have a reception he doesn’t need to drink to get through. Still, he wants to be Eddie Tozier so badly it aches in his chest. Eddie Tozier is laid back, he knows how to relax, he’s funny and confident. Not an anxious, needy mess of a person. 

* * *

“Eddie, my love?” Richie asks. 

“Mhmm?” Eddie responds, holding Richie’s hand as they float in the pool on their new inflatable pool hammock, his other hand wrapped around the stem of his margarita glass, his crazy straw not leaving his lips. The straw doesn’t fit in the glass at all but Eddie loves it so he uses it. It’s a beautiful day, the temperature mild and the sky blue, totally ignorant that the forecast calls for rain tomorrow. Eighties pop music is playing on the Bluetooth speaker and Eddie is pleasantly buzzed.

“I mean this in the most loving way possible,” Richie says and then stops. Eddie turns his head to look at him, the plastic of his sunglasses digging into behind his ear. Richie takes a deep breath, turning to look back at Eddie, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Your midlife crisis is scaring me, Eds.” 

“Is this because I got my ear pierced? Because you did that too,” Eddie says. He didn’t even pressured Richie into it, he willingly volunteered to do it with Eddie. 

“No, it’s the...everything, Eds. You haven’t been acting like yourself -” 

Eddie scoffs. “How am I supposed to be acting?” 

“I don’t know,” Richie says, the worried look on his face keeping Eddie grounded. He’s not trying to be mean, he’s just worried. Eddie knows he’s been off lately, he feels it, he’s not that un-self aware that he thinks he’s behaving normally but he doesn’t know what normal is anymore. He can’t shake the feeling that something is alive under his skin, always buzzing. “Something happened in New York. You haven’t been the same since you went.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “I got divorced. I’m divorced now.” 

“I know that,” Richie says, his voice tight. “But...did anything else happen in New York?” 

“No?” Eddie asks, trying to decipher why Richie would ask that through the buzz of tequila in his brain. “I flew in. I voted. I got the email from my lawyer. Got wine and Burger King. Took a bath. Talked to you.” 

“What about after?” Richie asks, a pained look on his face. 

“After? I packed my pockets full of gravel from the flower bed outside and I went to Coney Island and threw rocks in the ocean. It took two hours to get there and everything was closed and I froze my ass off. Then I ate a hotdog and went back to the hotel and slept.”

“Ok,” Richie says in a tone that sounds anything but _ok_. “If you say nothing happened.” 

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Richard,” Eddie says, his stomach suddenly queasy, his heartbeat jumping to his throat. “Are you asking if I cheated on you?” 

“No,” Richie says quickly but the truth is written all over his face. “You didn’t, though, did you?” 

“No!” Eddie yells so loudly Richie flinches away from him. His blood is boiling. How the fuck could he accuse him of that? He’s been weird and impulsive but there’s nothing he’s done that should have been screaming ‘I cheated on you’ at Richie. Eddie lets go of his hand like it burned him. “Fuck you. I wouldn’t do that to us. You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I would. Why the fuck would you think I did that?”

“You’ve been acting really fucking weird, Eds. In general but also in bed.” Richie doesn’t sound mad or accusatory, he just sounds sad and it’s making it hurt worse for Eddie. Why can’t he just yell back? “It’s like I don’t know you when we’re fucking. You’re a different person. You want different things. You’ve been on my dick every day since you got back. And I didn’t know if it was because of something that happened or -” 

“Fuck you!” Eddie flings the rest of his margarita right in Richie’s face, the straw falling out immediately, stopped from falling to the bottom of the pool by the hammock. He scrambles to get out of the pool floaty, his throat tight. The glass tilts over where he hastily sets it down and shatters on the concrete around the pool. He’s shaking so badly he almost can’t pull himself out of the pool but he manages it. 

“Eddie!” Richie yells after him but it sounds distant, the pounding rush of blood in his head louder. 

He forgets his towel, stumbling into the living room, dripping water everywhere. He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s doing all he knows is his heart is pounding and his vision is blurry and he can’t fucking _breathe_. Why doesn’t he have his inhaler? He needs his inhaler, his throat feels like he’s breathing through a pinhole. He trips on the rug leading to the front door, falling to one knee like he did the night he and Richie had sex for the first time. He remembers how happy he was, how much they laughed after. He feels like vomiting.

Richie thinks Eddie would cheat on him. Did cheat on him. It’s his own fault, he told Richie about the guy at the gym, he put it in Richie’s head that he was a cheater because he is, he cheated on his wife and got away with it but there are consequences for everything, Eddie knows that, it’s why he’s always tried to be _good_ , because of the consequences if he wasn’t _good_ _enough_. Myra never found out, never will find out now, but Eddie hasn’t gotten away with it, it’s going to follow him around for the rest of his life. He can feel it choking him. He lowers himself to the floor, gasping for breath, curling in on himself, forehead on the floor. His stomach hurts and his chest aches badly, his heart throbbing painfully in his chest. He might be dying. Again. But this time it doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel like a release from anything, this time it feels like a punishment. He deserves this, he brought it on himself. 

“Eddie,” Richie says when he finds him gasping for breath behind the couch. “I’m sorry, love.” Richie drops to his knees, drapes Eddie’s towel around his shoulders and tries to pull him into a hug but Eddie can’t move from where he is on the floor. 

“I...I can’t breath,” Eddie manages. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying, you’re having a panic attack,” Richie says, rubbing Eddie’s back through the towel. Eddie shivers under his touch. He hadn’t realized he was so cold. “Come on, Eds. You can’t breath scrunched up like that.” Eddie allows Richie to help him into a sitting position, Richie sliding into the space behind him, his chest to Eddie’s back. “Good,” Richie says. Eddie doesn’t feel good, he feels like he’s still shaky and gasping for air and barely hanging onto life, choked sobs wracking his body. He’s surprised Richie wants to touch him. Richie’s arms come up around Eddie, forcing his shoulders straight back against Richie’s chest. “Breathe in and out slowly, ok? Can you do that, Eds? In for seven and out for seven.” 

Eddie does as he says, his entire body still trembling, vaguely aware that there’s tears streaming down his face. He takes a shaky breath in, his brain struggling to remember how to count but Richie says “good” again so he must have breathed in for the right amount. He lets it out slowly and does another, and another, and another until he doesn’t feel so much like he’s dying. 

“What the fuck, Rich?” he says, his throat still tight, heart still constricting painfully.

“I don’t know,” Richie says, his arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. His tone is completely miserable. 

“You thought I cheated on you? This whole fucking time? It’s been like a week and you’ve just been holding that in? You’ve been fucking me thinking that?” Eddie feels like he might hyperventilate again. He wants to turn around and look at Richie but his strong arms are wrapped around Eddie’s chest. 

“I…” he breathes out shakily, his grip on Eddie tightening, his cheek against Eddie’s hair. “I didn’t know what else to think. You said. You said you wanted me to fuck you blind but I wasn’t there. And then you were so different I thought...” 

“Richie,” Eddie chokes out, his body trying to curl up again. “Never. I would never. That you would think I - Fuck. You don’t trust me. I need that. I need you to trust me. I don’t know how this is going to fucking work if you don’t trust me.” 

Richie lets him go then, scrambling away so fast it feels like another heart wrenching shock to his system. Richie makes a pained sound, hasty footsteps stumbling away. Eddie hears a bang and turns around to see him stumble into the bathroom door, one hand over his mouth. Eddie takes a few deep breaths before trying to get up, letting the towel drop from his shoulders. The wood floor is wet where they were sitting and he’s careful not to slip even as his vision swims. He can hear Richie throwing up in the bathroom and normally he’d give him privacy but he follows him in, swallowing down the burn in his own throat. He doesn’t look, tunnel vision leading him behind Richie, sitting on the floor behind him in the half-bath near the entryway. He reaches out a shaky hand and rubs Richie’s back lightly. Eddie’s heart is pounding. 

He always thought Richie trusted him, didn’t hold what he did against him. He said it was ok, hadn’t he? Back in Derry. Hadn’t he told Eddie he was allowed to have one blowjob from a stranger in exchange for years of sex he hadn’t wanted with a woman? That one indiscretion is going to fuck up Eddie’s life now because Richie thinks he’d do it again just because he thought Eddie was horny and away from him for less than forty-eight hours. 

“Fuck,” Richie rasps when he’s done. He flushes the toilet and puts the lid down, resting his cheek on top, still heaving breaths. “I fucking knew it. I knew I was going to fuck this up.”

“How did _you_ fuck it up?” Eddie asks. “I’m the fuck-up.” 

“No, Eds. You’re the one going through some shit,” Richie says. “I’m the asshole who jumped to all the wrong conclusions. I’m...I’m sorry. _Fuck_. I do trust you. I trust you with my life. I’m. I’m a colossal fucking moron.”

“I don’t think you know what trust means,” Eddie says through the tightness in his throat. 

“I trust you,” he repeats, sitting up slowly and turning to look at Eddie. His face is a miserable mess and Eddie is sure he’s mirroring it. “I just...I got in my head. I don’t know if you’ve noticed Eds but I’m my own worst fucking enemy. It wasn’t you. It was me. Fucking clichés.” 

“It hurts,” Eddie rasps, a fresh wave of tears making his eyes sting. “I’m not...I’m not that person. I thought you knew me.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie says, tears falling freely down his scruffy face. “I’m so fucking sorry. I...I understand if you - You can -” he gives Eddie a tearful smile, watery eyes roaming over Eddie’s face. “You can stay however long you want.” 

Eddie suppresses the wounded noise that tries to escape his throat, his heart pounding. “Are you breaking up with me?” He can feel it again, his throat tightening to a pinhole. His next breath comes out in a wheeze. 

“No,” Richie says. “No. Aren’t you?” 

“No,” Eddie wheezes, clutching at his chest. “What the fuck?” 

“Jesus,” Richie says, his eyes screwed shut. “I’m...I might be legally fucking brain dead.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, his vision too blurry to really see his expression anymore. He leans heavily against the wall. He’s never felt like this before, like his heart was being torn from his chest. “What the fuck, Rich?” 

“Can I touch you?” Richie asks, his voice shaking as bad as Eddie. Eddie nods tightly, focusing on breathing, leaning into Richie when he shifts to wrap his arms around him.

“I thought,” Eddie sobs into Richie’s shoulder. “I thought you wanted to marry me. We just told people we were engaged. We talked about it when I was in New York and then you assumed I -” 

“I do,” Richie says fiercely, crushing Eddie to him. “I want to marry you so fucking bad. I’m _going to marry you,_ if you can put up with me. If you can forgive me.” 

“But you...Fuck, Rich. You were going to marry me. Thinking I fucked someone else. We just bought engagement bracelets. _What the fuck_?”

“Yeah,” Richie swallows hard. “It wouldn’t stop me. Even if you had.” 

“ _What the fuck_?” Eddie chokes out, he pulls away enough to look Richie in the face, taking in the pained look on his face. “Rich. Do you have no fucking self-respect?” 

“I’m a comedian,” Richie smiles weakly. “I thought you knew.” 

“I…” Eddie chokes on his words, remembering his conversation with Beverly months ago in Derry, sitting on the balcony overlooking Center Street. ‘ _I would have stayed,_ ’ he said and it was true; if Myra had hit him he would have stayed. If he cheated on Richie he wouldn’t leave Eddie. “That’s not right, Rich. You deserve better than that, sweetheart.”

“Does it matter?” Richie asks, still trying to smile and failing. “I was wrong.” 

“It matters,” Eddie tells him. “Your self-esteem matters. Your self-worth matters.” 

“What’s that?” Richie jokes, the watery look in his eyes not making it funny at all. 

“Richie,” Eddie says, cupping his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks, caressing his stubble lovingly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You deserve better. You deserve the fucking world. You deserve happiness and love. And respect. You should know your self-worth. I would never fucking hurt you like that, Rich. I want to be deserving of you.” 

“You are, Eds,” Richie says. “I’m the one who’s trying to fuck us up. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I did,” Eddie insists. “But I would never do that to you. I love you, Rich. And I respect you. I trust you. I want...I want you to feel that way about me too. I thought. I thought you did.” It makes tears well up again, the sharp pain in his heart. He needs Richie to trust and respect him, it’s as important as love for Eddie and he really thought he had that; Richie’s full trust and respect. It’s what had always been missing from his relationship with his mother, with Myra. 

“I do,” Richie says quickly, leaning forward to press his forehead against Eddie’s. “I love you so fucking much. I trust you. I respect you. So much, Eds. I’m sorry. Can...Can we forget this happened? Chalk it up to temporary insanity and my non-existent self-esteem?” 

“I can’t forget this,” Eddie says, running his hands through Richie’s hair. “It’s too important. But we can move past it.” Eddie believes that, he has to because the alternative is too painful to consider. 

“Why do you have to be such a fucking adult sometimes?” Richie says. “Why can’t we get one do-over? We could get back in the pool and pretend this never happened.” 

“We can’t do that,” Eddie says. “Also there’s margarita in the pool, we need to drain it and clean it. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok, love,” Richie sighs. “I deserved it.” 

“You really fucking didn’t,” Eddie says, guilt heavy in his chest. “Are you ok, Rich?” 

“I’m fine,” Richie says, pulling away to give him a watery smile. “Are you alright, Eds? Also this whole thing has been extra weird because you’re still wearing those stupid sunglasses.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, sliding the bright green sunglasses he bought on their trip to Santa Monica off and folding them, setting them down on top of the closed toilet seat. He’ll have to clean them later. The lenses are splattered with tear stains. “In general or right now?” Eddie asks, his voice surprisingly steady.

“Both?” Richie asks.

Eddie has to give himself some time to think it over. He’s not in danger of another panic attack but he still feels upset. “No,” he finally answers. 

“I’m sorry, love,” Richie sighs and pulls him into a hug. Eddie can feel the rise of Richie’s chest against his. He likes feeling Richie breathe, there’s something comforting in it. Maybe because he’d been caught in the deadlights and Eddie had been so scared he’d lose him. He never wants to lose Richie again. 

“It’s ok,” Eddie tells him. “It’s not your fault.” 

“The fuck it’s not,” Richie says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was fucking stupid. I’m an insecure asshole.” 

“You shouldn’t just hold shit like that in, Rich. It festers. It’s my fucking fault. I’m the one who cheated on my wife.” Richie doesn’t say anything but he rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder, leans his head against Eddie’s. “I was unhappy,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m not unhappy with you, Rich. I’m so fucking in love with you. And if I was unhappy...I wouldn’t cheat on you. We’d work it out. Like adults.” 

“Big words from someone who just threw their margarita in my face,” Richie teases him and Eddie pulls away to look at him again, looking for traces of green on his face now that he’s not wearing his sunglasses. There’s no evidence on his face but he looks worried and tired. Eddie did that to him. It makes his stomach twist with guilt. He’s been so fucking selfish lately he hasn’t thought about how Richie might be experiencing his weird moods and behavior. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Rich,” he says, cupping his face again, noticing this time that his skin is a little sticky. “I shouldn’t have done that, it was a real fucking bitchy thing to do.” 

“I usually love when you’re bitchy,” Richie gives him a tentative smile. “But I could do without the tequila in my eyes.” 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, leaning in to gently kiss each of Richie’s closed eyelids. “I’m the fucking worst.” 

“You’re not,” Richie says. “I...Can I tell you something, Eds? Since we’re being adults now, sitting on the bathroom floor in our stupid swim trunks.” Eddie likes the swim trunks he bought, they have photo-realistic pineapples with giant sunglasses that had reminded him of Richie’s glasses. Eddie nods. “I...I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m really fucking scared you’re going to leave me.” 

“I’m not, Rich,” Eddie says, his chest aching. 

“I know,” Richie says even though he must not know, not really, if he thinks there’s any possibility Eddie would ever leave him, would ever cheat on him. “I just...I don’t get why you’re, you know. Why you’re here. With me. If you didn’t mean it back at the hospital, it’s ok. I won’t be mad. You don’t have to stay with me. You could do so much better than me, Eds. You said it, there’s plenty of dick in the sea.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie says gently. “That was a joke. I love you so fucking much, Rich. You’re the only one I want. I mean it. What the fuck is wrong with your head that you don’t see how great you are?” 

“And here I was thinking you were the one with the head injury, since you’re the one into me.” His tone is light and joking but he’s clearly serious. 

“Do you need an itemized list?” Eddie asks, eyes raking over Richie’s tired face. He loves him so much it hurts. “You’re caring, loyal, handsome as fuck, _funny_. You’re sweet. And smart. You give so fucking much without asking for anything in return. You get me like no one else does. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now but you do.” 

“Midlife crisis Eddie is like the dark side of the moon,” Richie says. “Mysterious and sinks up well with _The Wizard of Oz_.” Eddie chuckles a little at the reference.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or who I am right now, but it never crossed my mind even for a second to doubt that you wouldn’t love and support me through whatever I’m going through.” 

“Fuck,” Richie swallows hard, staring at Eddie with wide eyes. “Now I look like even more of an asshole. I - Fuck. Eds. I’m sorry. I do love and support you, my love. I’m just a fuck-up. I’m surprised we’ve gotten this far without me attempting to self-sabotage.” 

“We both have shit we need to work on,” Eddie says. 

“Will you still love me if I fail? More than I already have?”

“You haven’t failed, Rich. You hurt my feelings but we’ll work it out, ok? I love you. I’m willing to work on this harder than anything I’ve fucking worked on in my life.” 

“Me too,” Richie says, on the verge of tears again. “Fuck, Eddie. I’ve never worked hard on anything in my life but I will. I promise. I fucking will.” 

“That’s not true,” Eddie says gently, his heart aching in a different way at Richie’s words, the conviction in his voice, the affirmation that they’re both committed to making this work. “You’re a hard worker. Look at everything you’ve accomplished.” 

“I haven’t accomplished shit. I’m a huge fucking failure. You just haven’t noticed yet.” 

“You’re not a failure, Rich. No one can deny you’re a huge fucking success,” Eddie insists. 

“I’m not though,” Richie says, voice high. “I’m a fraud. This house, the fame. None of it is mine. You said it, this house doesn’t feel like me. It’s because it’s not. I don’t deserve any of it. I’m not successful as _me,_ I'm successful as the douche I had my writers make me into. No one has heard Richie Tozier’s standup, not for real.” 

“That’s bullshit, you had to have been doing your own jokes before you had ghostwriters,” Eddie insists, rubbing Richie’s bare shoulders, trying to work out some of the tension. “You had to be good enough to get a manager and an agent.” Eddie feels like he’s had his eyes closed for months; how did he never notice how insecure Richie is?

“I was doing my own shit but I was still up there lying, talking about girls who I never dated or ever wanted to fuck. I’ve never really been myself on stage. People are going to hate me.” 

“They’re not going to hate you. Your audience will change but good riddance to anyone who doesn’t love the real you. I can’t fucking wait to see the authentic Richie Tozier on stage.”

“Jesus, ‘authentic,’ Eds? You’re already becoming a Californian. You want my new material to be _organic_ and _natural_ too?” 

“Shut up, it’s true, Rich. You’re going to be awesome, full stop. I have no doubts that you’re going to work your ass off to make your own routine the best ever. You can try it out on me first if you want. I’ll fucking push you until it’s perfect.” 

“Well, now I’m scared and horny? You’re gonna push me, Eds?” Richie smiles at him and it’s real, a tentative but sincere smile and it melts some of the ice in Eddie’s stomach even if he doesn’t get why the idea of Eddie pushing him is sexy. “You have a fucking weird sense of humor, love. If I tailor my routine just to you I’m going to bomb.” 

“You don’t have to tailor it to me. I can look at things objectively. And you’re not going to bomb.” 

“Really? Because last time I was on stage I definitely bombed.” 

“That was different and you fucking know it,” Eddie pinches his cheek lightly. 

“Bu-”

“I’ll love you no matter what, Rich. Even if you fail. Even if we have to sell the house. Even if we have to live in a dumpster. I’ll love you forever. I’m still unemployed. Your love for me isn’t tied up in how successful my career is, is it?” 

“No, of course not,” Richie says and Eddie cuts him off before he can make fun of Eddie’s career choice. 

“It’s going to be fine. We’re in this for the long haul, right?” Eddie asks, running his hands through Richie’s hair. He got a haircut yesterday but Eddie still loves it. 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “Hey, we can always become truckers together. Long hauls. We could be the new Tracker Brothers.” 

“Ok,” Eddie agrees. He’s starting to feel calmer, more rational even if his nerves still feel raw. “That’s our backup.” 

“Cool. Maybe I could get into CB radio out on the road. Entertain our fellow truckers.”

“That’s nice, sweetie but can we talk about how you thought I cheated on you because I constantly want your dick? Where’s the fucking logic there, _Dick_?”

“I don’t know,” Richie frowns, eyes searching Eddie’s face. “I thought maybe you finally got some good cock and were trying to recreate it with me.” 

“Not even close,” Eddie says, stroking Richie’s hair. “You’re the only dick I need for the rest of my life. Can’t a guy finally work through his repression and just want to get pounded?” 

“You also got really good at blowjobs, really fast,” Richie says, his eyes drifting to Eddie’s mouth. 

“I realized it’s 70% enthusiasm so I went in more enthusiastic.” Eddie can feel his face heating up. He loves making Richie feel good, loves testing the limits of his own gag reflex - it wasn’t that strong to begin with, he’s discovered. He’s always been good at swallowing. “It really hurt my fucking feelings that you’d think I’d cheat on you, Rich. Is that going to be a thing? Am I not going to be allowed to have friends? Are you going to think I’m sucking my new tennis instructor’s dick?” 

“No,” Richie says quickly, a pained look back on his face. “I want you to have your own life here, I just...I told you, I’m an insecure asshole. It didn’t have anything to do with you.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit, Rich,” he says, no heat in his tone. He continues to touch Richie, to stroke his hair and face and shoulders, he can never get enough of touching him. “You said it was my weird behavior that put the thought in your head.” 

“No, it was how I interpreted it because _I’m a fucking moron_.”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeats, that familiar pang of regret and shame in his gut. “If I hadn’t cheated on Myra would you have even thought it was a possibility?” Richie doesn’t say anything. “It won’t happen again, Rich. If a guy makes eyes at me at the gym or anywhere else I’ll turn him down.” It’s what he should have done in the first place. He should have pushed the guy away and told him ‘no’ but he was so lonely, so sexually frustrated he had just gone along with it. Had jerked off to the sense memory in the shower a few days later and cried. “I think we should both start going to therapy.” They’ve talked about it before but they’ve been home for almost a week and they still haven’t put in the effort to make appointments. 

“That’s a good fucking idea, Eds,” Richie says, his voice soft. “Can I kiss you?” Eddie nods and leans in, just a soft press of lips stealing his breath, making him feel so much better it’s embarrassing. Richie still loves him, he can feel it in the soft way he kisses him, in the longing look he gave Eddie before he asked. It soothes some of the hurt.

“I’ve been a selfish asshole,” Eddie says, pulling Richie in for a tight hug, savoring the feeling of Richie’s bare chest against his. They both smell like chlorine, they should shower. “I’m sorry about the rough sex. I don’t want to make you do things you don’t want to. Fuck,” he breathes out. Is he doing to Richie what he did to himself with Myra? Forcing himself to do something he didn’t want to to keep someone else satisfied, dying inside every time. “I don’t want to put you through that.” 

“It’s not like that, Eds,” Richie assures him, rubbing his back. “Making you feel good makes me feel good. It wouldn’t be my number one choice but the look on your face when you come always makes it worth it. My little masochist.” He presses a light kiss to Eddie’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“We should do more of what you want, Rich,” Eddie says. “Am I a masochist? I don’t know. It does something to me. It makes me feel good. Alive.” He feels weird vocalizing that but he should have said something sooner, should have told Richie what he wanted and why and maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. 

“That’s ok, Eds. I don’t mind helping you out like that if I know why you want me to be rough with you. Look at us, communicating like adults.” 

“Your hair smells like margarita,” Eddie says, kissing his neck. Licking a stripe up his skin. He can taste it, along with sweat and chlorine. It makes Richie pull away and laugh a startled laugh.

“We should do this more often. Without the crying and the vomiting and sitting on the bathroom floor. I - Fuck. I want to tell you how I feel Eds. I want to know how you feel but it’s…” 

“I know,” Eddie says. “I’m a man too.” 

“Fucking toxic masculinity,” Richie says so seriously Eddie huffs a laugh. 

“You get it now? I love you and I’d never fucking cheat on you, you lunatic.”

“I get it,” Richie swallows. “I’ll stop trying to sabotage myself so much from the inside.” 

“I need your trust and respect, Rich. It’s really fucking important. I’ve. I’ve never had a healthy relationship before. I want that for us. I want our relationship to be healthy,” Eddie says. It scares him that even if it wasn’t healthy they would both stick around.

“I do too,” Richie says. “I’ve never even had a relationship before though, Eds. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing beyond self-destructing. Can you work with that?” 

“I can work with that,” Eddie says and he means it. “We’ll figure this out together. We’ll make it work.” 

“Fuck yeah, we will,” Richie says but Eddie can still see the worry in his eyes. “Shower together?”

Eddie agrees. He feels disgusting. Their shower is big enough for the two of them and it has two shower heads, one on the ceiling that Richie likes to stand under because he doesn’t have to bend down to wash his hair and a standard one on the wall. Eddie is happy under either, his soapy hands wandering Richie’s body. He still feels emotionally raw and from the looks Richie keeps giving him he’s not alone. His hands are still a little shaky and there’s still fear in his gut but he lets the water wash away the last of his tears as he pushes Richie gently against the wall of the shower and kisses him, his tongue slipping into his freshly brushed mouth, tasting the mint on his tongue. They’re both half-hard. 

“You’re the only person I want,” Eddie murmurs against his jaw. “For the rest of my life, Rich. You’re all I want. I need you to believe that.” 

“I believe you,” Richie says, his voice raw. “I need…” 

“What do you need?” Eddie asks, brushing his fingers up and down Richie’s sides. He shivers under Eddie’s touch. 

“I need you to know that I trust you,” Richie breathes, his hands rubbing at Eddie’s lower back. “I know I fucked up on a monumental scale but. I trust you, love. More than I trust myself.” 

“Again with the self-esteem issues,” Eddie says, pulling back to look at him. His breath catches in his throat. Richie is looking at him with such naked vulnerability and desire, his pupils blown wide. 

“Please believe me,” Richie says, his throat working to swallow. “The next time I feel that insecure I’ll bring it up sooner. I won’t be a fucking coward about it.” 

“I believe you,” Eddie says, his heart pounding. It’s true. Richie has always treated him with respect, has never doubted him before except when it has to do with his own insecurities; first about his fear of Myra luring Eddie back to her and now this. Beyond those two specific occasions Richie has always trusted him, even when Eddie didn’t trust himself. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an impulsive asshole lately.”

“It’s ok. You’re going through some shit.” 

“I don’t mean to put you through shit too though, sweetheart. You don’t deserve that.” 

“I want to share your burdens, love of my life,” Richie says and Eddie’s mind reels. They cling together naked under the water. “That’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? Share the shit you’re going through? I want to be there for you, Eds. Forever. No matter what.” 

“I…” Eddie struggles to breathe. He’s never shared what’s going on in his head before with anyone. He could share his surface anxieties with Myra, the ones they shared about germs and sickness and safety but he never let her into his deeper thoughts and fears, his feelings. His feelings have been such a mess lately he hasn’t even really tried to articulate them to himself but maybe he should have. He tried over the phone, when he talked to Richie in Queens and it felt good, he felt close to Richie, sharing what he was feeling and then they hung up and Richie thought Eddie cheated on him after. “I want that too. Fuck, Rich. I’ve never had that before. With anyone.” 

“Eds,” Richie breathes heavily. “I need…”

“What is it, darling? What can I do for you?” Eddie asks although from Richie’s heavy erection pressed against him he has some idea. 

“Can you fuck me? Gently.” 

“You want me to make love to you?” Eddie asks, pressing an open mouth kiss to Richie’s neck and feeling his pulse jump under his touch.

“That sounds so fucking lame,” Richie says, his voice quiet. “But yes. Please.” 

“Anything for you, Rich,” Eddie says, pressing a knee between Richie’s legs. “Do you want me to get out or stay while you get clean?” 

“I um, can you stay? Is that gross?” Richie says, his hands twitching in Eddie’s hips. “Can you talk me through it? I haven’t done this since college.” 

“It’s been that long?” He doesn’t know why it surprises him.

“Yeah,” Richie swallows. “It was always easier to top casually. That’s fucking selfish but whatever. You just never know the kind of person you’re hooking up with. I never trusted…” 

“I got it, Rich,” Eddie says, caressing Richie’s hip. “It’s a vulnerable thing, letting someone inside of you like that.” It makes fierce affection rise in his chest. Richie wants Eddie inside of him.

“I only ever let one guy fuck me like that,” Richie admits, his voice quiet. He’s trembling a little against Eddie. “The guy I lost my virginity to.” 

“I didn’t know,” Eddie says, kissing Richie’s neck and shoulder. 

“We met at a gay bar in West Hollywood,” Richie says. “When I was twenty-one and so lonely I felt like I was going to die. He was older. A lot older. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, it’s not fucking sexy.” 

“You can tell me if you want,” Eddie says, pressing his erection against Richie to prove his point. “I like knowing shit about you, Rich.” 

“He was old enough to be my dad. I didn’t care. He was into me and it felt good. That was the closest I got to dating anyone. Fucking around with this guy who was probably only really into me because I was young and lonely and eager. It was good though. I liked it. And then I got scared because I liked it so much. I ghosted him, before that was a thing people talked about doing.” 

“It’s ok to like it, Rich. I like it too. It’s not shameful to like being penetrated.”

“Wow, you really cut to the point don’t you? And so sexily.” 

“Sorry,” Eddie pulls away to look at him. He’s still looking at Eddie with desire so he didn’t fuck up his mood. “Do you still want that? You want me inside of you?” 

“Yes,” Richie says, pressing himself hard against the shower wall. His legs are shaking a little. 

“We can take it slow,” Eddie says, reaching over to hand Richie the soap. 

When they get out of the shower Richie doesn’t put his glasses back on. They might still be out by the pool, he wasn’t wearing them when he came in after Eddie, but when Eddie offers to get them Richie turns down the offer. It’s different, usually Richie wears his glasses during sex but Eddie quickly gets why he doesn’t want them when he keeps closing his eyes while Eddie works him open, his fingers gently massaging his entrance, dipping in and out of his tight heat slowly. “Relax, Rich,” Eddie says, kissing his shoulder because Richie didn’t want him between his legs. “It’s ok to let go. Let me make you feel good like you make me feel good.” 

“Ok,” Richie sighs, his legs trembling. 

“Does it feel good?” Eddie asks. He’s only ever done this to himself so he only knows what he likes. Richie nods, eyes still shut. “Good,” Eddie says. “Can I get between your legs?” Richie nods again after a moment and Eddie slowly shifts away from Richie’s side, settling between Richie’s thighs. He leans down and kisses the inside of his left thigh, enjoying the little gasp and twitch his touch elicits. He grasps Richie’s cock with his other hand, drawing a soft moan from him. Richie cracks open his eyes to look at him but Eddie knows he’s out of Richie’s clear field of vision. “Is this ok?” he asks and Richie nods. “You can’t use your words?” he asks. He doesn’t know why he pushes it but when Richie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips and he rasps his response it goes straight to Eddie’s already painfully hard cock. 

“Yes.” 

“Good boy,” Eddie says without thought. Whatever part of his brain that usually controls his mouth is apparently completely shut off but the look on Richie’s face tells him he liked it. Eddie crooks his fingers, searching for Richie’s prostate, enjoying the way he moans and presses into the touch. “See what happens when you’re a good boy,” he says. 

“Jesus Eddie,” Richie laughs breathlessly. It feels awesome around his fingers, he can feel the vibration. 

“Do you want me to shut up?” 

“No,” Richie says, his breath catching in his throat. “But if you keep talking like that I’m not going to last long.”

“That’s ok,” Eddie says, stroking Richie’s leaking cock lazily, his fingers hot inside of him. He feels more relaxed. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” 

“Yes,” Richie says, his fingers digging into the blanket when Eddie rewards him. 

Eddie pulls his fingers out slowly, enjoying the feel of him, how relaxed his ring of muscle is now versus when he started. He only has a little trouble getting the condom on the right way. “I might not last long either,” Eddie says as he hovers over Richie, lining himself up with his entrance. He finds the right spot, the tip of his cock only meeting a little resistance as it slides in. “Fuck,” he breathes. The pressure and heat is overwhelming as is the way Richie moans under him. “You like that?” he asks, pressing in a little more. Richie doesn’t speak, just bites his lip and nods. “I want to hear you,” Eddie says, reaching down to help adjust Richie’s hips so the angle is better as he slides further in. 

“Eddie,” Richie breathes. Eddie can feel his thighs already shaking on either side of him. 

“What is it, love?” Eddie asks, sliding in a little more before pulling back out. His pace is slow, lazy, not pushing in all the way yet, gradually pushing further in as Richie breathes heavily under him. “Look at me,” Eddie says when his eyes are still closed. “Can you look at me?” Richie opens his eyes, pupils wide and dark, a dazed look in his pretty eyes. “Good boy,” Eddie says and tries his best to angle up, to drag his cock against Richie’s prostate. He knows he succeeded when he gasps, his hips pushing against Eddie for me, drawing more of him inside, into Richie’s heat. “You feel so fucking good, Rich. Why haven’t we done this before?” Richie shuts his eyes again in response, head pressing heavily into the pillow. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” Eddie says lovingly, fucking into him slowly, carefully. “You’re allowed to feel good. Let me undo you, baby. Look at me.” Richie’s eyes open again and Eddie rewards him. “You’re so fucking beautiful. I love you like this. Why didn’t you tell me you could take cock like this?” Richie moans in response, arching against him, tilting his hips further up, making the angle better. 

Eddie has never talked this much during sex. He was always pointedly quiet with Myra, tight lipped and closed eyed as he tried to take his mind off the act. This is the exact opposite. “Touch yourself,” he commands gently and Richie’s arms reaches between them to pump his cock. “Good,” Eddie breathes, picking up the pace. “I want to see you come,” Eddie says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Can you do that for me, good boy? Can you come for me? Eyes open,” he reminds him. “Let me see you, beautiful.” He stares at Richie’s face, his parted lips, the wanton look in his eyes. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s my cock slut.” He thinks maybe that was too far but Richie moans, his hand pumping faster. “I love you so much,” he breathes, pushing himself fully inside Richie and marveling at the heat, even through the condom, the delicious pressure enveloping him. He keeps his movements gentle, even, while he picks up the pace, trying his best to be gentle with Richie. “Do you like that? Do you like taking my cock?” 

“Yes,” Richie moans and Eddie hadn’t actually been expecting a response. “Fuck. Eds. I love you.” 

“Good boy,” Eddie breathes heavily. “My good beautiful boy. Come for me baby, come on my cock. I want to feel you- _ah_ -” It catches him by surprise when Richie comes, his hole tightening around him. “Good boy, fuck. That’s perfect,” he babbles, watching the pleasure wash over Richie’s face, his chest and neck flush as he comes hard. “You’re perfect, love. Ah,” his hips snap against Richie a little rougher than before as he loses control, riding out his orgasm with his head bowed. When he’s done Richie is looking up at him with unfocused eyes. Eddie leans down and kisses him sloppily, Richie eagerly responding. “You ok?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says, his voice wrecked. There’s moisture in his eyes but he doesn’t look sad or in pain, at least not to Eddie’s hazy post-orgasm brain. “Fuck. That was. Wow. Eddie.” 

“Was it good?” Eddie asks, easing himself out slowly, gripping the base of his cock so he doesn’t lose the condom. His heart is still beating so fast as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Yeah,” Richie sighs, his legs gone completely slack against the bed. 

“It wasn’t embarrassing?” He doesn’t know if he meant for Richie or because Eddie couldn’t stop running his mouth, maybe both. 

“No,” Richie assures him. “I’m fucked though. That was so good, love. Now I need you to dick me down regularly or I might die.” 

“Well if it’s to save your life I can make that sacrifice,” Eddie says. 

“You’re selfless like that. It’s why I love you. Always ready to sacrifice yourself,” Richie says and Eddie catches his lips one more time before he cleans them up.

“You called me ‘baby,’” Richie says after, his head on Eddie’s chest. Richie’s head is so big it looks almost comical on Eddie’s comparatively narrow body but he loves it, stroking Richie’s hair as they cuddle. “A couple times, I think.” 

“Sorry. That’s hypocritical of me. It just slipped out,” Eddie says. 

“It’s ok,” Richie says. “I didn’t mind. It was hot. You can call me anything you want if you fuck me like that.” 

“Ok, princess,” Eddie teases him. To his surprise Richie laughs, his warm breath pleasant on Eddie’s bare chest. “What?” 

“Have you heard of a pillow princess?”

“No,” Eddie says, stroking the back of Richie’s neck.

“It’s someone who just lays there and wants to be taken care of,” Richie says.

“Oh. I wouldn’t mind if you did that sometimes. I could take care of you.”

“You just did,” Richie says quietly, turning his face to kiss Eddie’s chest. 

“You did stuff,” Eddie says. “You didn’t just lie there.”

“It felt like it,” Richie murmurs. “I liked it.” 

“Then I’ll do it more often,” Eddie says, kissing Richie’s forehead. “I loved it, Rich. I um...I didn’t know it would be so good. That sounds stupid but, you know.” Eddie has only ever been inside one person and it had never felt like that. He assumed maybe he just didn’t like topping but he was wrong. 

Everything with Richie is different. Everything will continue to be different because Eddie isn’t going to be passive this time. His relationship with Myra took zero effort on his part, not active effort at least - he supposes it took effort to squash his personality into something pleasing to her but Eddie was used to that, he’d done it for years with his mother so it really wasn’t hard. Being with Richie is going to take work though and he hadn’t considered that at the time because they were just so relieved Eddie was alive at all that it had colored every interaction. Eddie has always liked hard work though, it’s where the best results are. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this didn't come out of nowhere. I was dropping hints it was heading this way but I'm not sure if they were too subtle. I also hope the tone shifts weren't too jarring.


	8. The Holiday Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie's first holiday season together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for marijuana use, wedding talk, and holiday fluff. Reference to book Ben's alcoholism again/rehab (his book intro is from the point of view of his small town bartender who is very concerned about him, bless Ricky Lee). In the book Myra tries to bribe Eddie to not leave by offering to cook him his favorite foods, which includes a "turkey dinner" and gravy so I thought Eddie must like Thanksgiving so I wanted to give him a good Thanksgiving.

_I’m renewed, oh how I feel like_

_Through Autumn’s advancing, we’ll stay young, go dancing_

Stay Young Go Dancing - Death Cab for Cutie 

There are turtles. A lot of turtles. It makes Eddie stop in his tracks so he can watch them, pull his phone out and snap pictures. They’re grouped together in a pond, trees overhanging the path. There’s a pleasant breeze making the reflection of the branches dance on the water. It’s mesmerizing. He didn’t know why his feet brought him this way off the main trail until he saw the turtles. The little path goes around the pond in a loop and Eddie walks around it reverently before giving the turtles a little wave and turning back to explore the rest of Franklin Canyon Park. Eddie likes exploring the park. The landscape is completely different from anything he’s seen before. New trees, the landscape a mix of evergreen and dead grass on the hills. The dead grass is taking some time to adjust to, he’s not sure why - replace the yellow-brown with grey concrete and it would be the same as New York City. There’s an almost fragile beauty to the hills around Los Angeles. Enduring green trees mixed in with the dried scrub. It could all go up with an errant match but it feels durable in some way. He likes it. 

Running makes him feel good, productive. He’ll start applying for jobs after the new year. In the meantime he’s continuing to keep himself occupied. He spent a rainy day assembling and painting a model car, Richie shut away in his office working, and loved it. Working with his hands has always been a meditative experience. Cooking has been fun too and he loves doing it with Richie, except when he’s hungry and impatient and doesn’t have the energy to argue about proper technique or how strictly they should be following the recipe. He’s been meditating with an app on his phone and it’s actually been helpful while he waits for his therapist appointment - who knew trying to find a therapist before the holidays would be a problem? It’s ok, Eddie can wait, he doesn’t want to take a slot away from someone who really needs help before Thanksgiving. He always hated Thanksgiving with Myra’s family. This year will be different. Better. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Richie says when Eddie walks through the door. Eddie is a sweaty mess, he doesn’t feel gorgeous - not ever, but especially not when he’s dirty. “How do you feel about going to Michigan?” 

“To live?” Eddie asks, unlacing his running shoes. 

“For Thanksgiving. My mom invited us,” Richie says and Eddie can’t quite decipher his tone. 

“Oh. Do you want to go?” Eddie asks because that’s more important, Eddie will be happy anywhere with him. Their original plan was to have Mike and Bill over but then they made plans to go to Portland instead - Oregon, Eddie keeps having to remind himself there’s another Portland on the West Coast. 

“Yeah, I do,” Richie smiles and even from across the room Eddie can see his eyes are watery. “I told her we’re engaged and she seemed happy. I guess she warmed up to the idea.” 

“That’s great,” Eddie says quickly. “Let’s do it. Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Richie laughs. 

“I’m going to meet your mom,” Eddie says, his heartbeat picking back up. 

“You’ve met my mom before, Eds. A few times,” he adds sarcastically. 

“Not as your partner,” Eddie says, a weird mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling up in his stomach. “Holy shit. We’re going to get married. Your mom is going to be there. Is your mom going to be there?” 

“Yeah, dude,” Richie laughs again. “That’s the plan.” 

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, a hand on his chest reminding him to breathe. 

“You ok, honey?” Richie gets off the couch to go to Eddie, one hand cupping Eddie’s cheek tentatively. Eddie turns his face into the touch, feeling warm at the endearment. They always feel like endearments when they come from Richie, he shouldn’t have been scared of them. 

“I’m ok,” Eddie says. “It’s just. _Your mom_ is going to be at our wedding, Rich. I...Even if my mom was still alive…” 

“No way she’d miss it,” Richie smiles wryly, stroking Eddie’s cheek with his thumb. “She wouldn’t pass up the chance to object. That’s a thing, right? Maybe we shouldn’t give people a chance to object to our union.” 

“No one is going to object,” Eddie says. “But we can take that out if you want, it’s our fucking wedding, we can do what we want. _Oh_.” 

“What?” Richie asks, the warmth in his eyes making Eddie feel a little light headed. 

“Is your mom going to walk you down the aisle?” Eddie asks. “That would be so fucking sweet.” 

“Don’t men usually walk themselves?” Richie asks. 

“Yeah but that’s sexist and stupid,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to. I just thought it would be nice.” 

“I’ll ask if she wants to,” Richie says, a real smile on his lips. Eddie leans in to kiss him even though he’s a sweaty mess. They haven’t talked about it yet, haven’t set any real details down in stone but maybe it’s time to start thinking about it. Eddie wasn’t involved with planning his first wedding and he looked forward to it the same way he looked forward to a root canal but this time is going to be different. 

* * *

Eddie angles his phone as subtly as he can so Richie doesn’t notice but of course he does. “Don’t judge me,” Richie says and Eddie almost knocks over his little plastic airplane cup of wine. Richie is sitting in the window seat, a death grip on his two drinks - ginger ale in one hand and a little cup of whiskey in the other.

“I’m not judging you,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m proud of you, Rich.” Richie had a death-grip on Eddie’s hand through takeoff but Eddie did breathing exercises with him and that seemed to help. It’s Richie’s first flight in years without a sedative and it fills Eddie with pride that Richie listened to him when he told Richie it was healthier to confront the fear than avoid it. 

“At least get a good angle,” Richie says, twisting to face Eddie. “Here,” he lifts both drinks up and attempts to sip from both at the same time. Eddie takes pictures but he’s sure they’re all blurry because he’s laughing. 

The nerves don’t hit him until the plane is descending. He had some leading up to this, he scrubbed the house clean before they left because it feels good to come home to a clean house and he needed something to keep him busy. He shouldn’t feel so nervous, it’s not like he’s meeting Maggie for the first time - but maybe that makes him more nervous. Twenty-seven years may have passed but Maggie Tozier knew Eddie as a kid. She must have had an opinion about Eddie, Sonia Kaspbrak certainly never held back her opinions about his friends. Which Eddie will she remember? The shy kid who would knock on her door and ask if Richie was home or the loud obnoxious kid yelling at her son or howling with laughter, on the rare occasion they spent time in Richie’s room, until she came knocking to ask them to tone it down because she had a headache. 

“Does she hate me?” Eddie asks as they emerge into the busy Detroit Metropolitan Airport. They chose to arrive Tuesday night, hoping to avoid the Thanksgiving travel rush but they were unsuccessful. At least Richie only got recognized a couple times at LAX. 

“What?” Richie laughs. “No way, Eds. She doesn’t even remember you. I had to talk her down from thinking she’s getting Alzheimer's. Explaining the magic alien clown fucker didn’t seem like a good idea.” 

Maggie meets them as they exit security and Eddie is unexpectedly taken aback because the last time he saw her she was taller than him. She looks the same, besides the wrinkles and the grey in her curly hair. He stands there awkwardly, feeling like a kid again as he watches Richie hug her. It’s brief and one armed on Richie’s part because he’s holding his duffel bag but she says “I’m so happy you came,” and smiles up at him when they pull away before turning to Eddie. “Little Eddie Kaspbrak,” she says warmly. “I remember you now.” 

“You do?” Eddie asks nervously even as he moves in for her offered hug. She hugs him for longer than Richie, holding him tight and Eddie finds himself getting misty eyed over the warmth and unearned affection in it.

“I can’t believe I forgot about you. You were the cutest little boy,” she says as she pulls away to look at him. “And you’ve grown into a very handsome man.” 

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, feeling his face heat up. “I’m not -” 

“You calling me _and my mom_ liars, Eds?” 

“ _Richie_ ,” Maggie scolds him. “He’s being modest. Come on boys. Are you hungry?” They both answer yes enthusiastically and when she suggests they pick up pizzas on the way home Richie manages not to make Eddie seem like an asshole. 

“That sounds great Mrs. Tozier,” he says, giving Richie a look behind her back. _Don’t you dare make me seem like a pretentious New Yorker_ , he says with his eyes and Richie just grins back at him. 

“Please, call me Maggie,” she says. 

The cold air fills his lungs as they make their way through the parking garage and he’s surprised by how much he missed that feeling. He hasn’t experienced a truly cold day in California yet, no breath coming out in clouds, no need for a scarf or gloves. He hasn’t fully wrapped his head around the idea that it never snows there. Richie keeps shivering in his new leather jacket. Eddie will have to take him shopping for a real winter coat before they go to Montana next month. 

“Would one of you like to drive?” The offer surprises both of them as they load their carry on bags into the trunk of Maggie’s sensible blue Hyundai. “My eyesight isn’t what it used to be at night.” 

“Eddie can drive,” Richie offers so Eddie finds himself adjusting his future mother-in-law’s car for him to drive and feeling weirdly emotional about it. Myra’s family always treated Eddie like he was an incompetent idiot for some reason, showing a humiliating and infuriating level of surprise when he showed competency at anything. Eddie doesn’t know what he did to earn that reputation. Maybe they got the impression he was incompetent from the way Myra talked about him.

Eddie likes driving. It doesn’t take a lot of digging into his psyche to tell him it’s because he likes the feeling of control it gives him, of freedom. It makes things easier when Maggie starts asking questions about him and his life and how he and Richie reconnected. 

“I’m sorry,” Maggie says and from the tone in her voice she’s on the verge of tears. “It’s awful. I remember Stan now. He was a nice, smart, quiet boy. He was such a good friend to you, Richie.” 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees from the backseat. “He was the best. Stan the man.” 

“I’m glad you found each other again,” Maggie says. “Some good came from the tragedy.” 

Eddie murmurs his agreement, his throat tight. Missing Stan still feels so raw sometimes. It’s been months since he’s spoken to Stan but he knows from the others that he’s been around. Beverly told them Stan got in contact with Patty; whether she believes she’s just dreaming or really talking to him isn’t clear yet. Eddie can’t imagine what that must be like for her. Sometimes he feels like Stan is with him and Richie when they’re outside on the patio and a burst of birdsong comes from the bushes when Richie makes a joke. 

It’s only a half hour drive to Ann Arbor but the expressway is unlit. Eddie sees why Maggie didn’t want to drive on it. It was brave of her to ask. His own mother died relatively young, in her sixties, and never asked Eddie to do anything for her - she always commanded Eddie to do things or insisted she could do whatever Eddie was trying to help with. He doesn’t want to think about what kind of aging man he’ll be. Forty isn’t that old, he keeps telling himself. He’s forty and he's just starting to live the kind of life he wants to live - the unfairness of it burns his throat but he takes a deep breath. There’s no going back, only forward. 

“Richie says you’ve been keeping busy,” Eddie says to get Maggie to talk about herself. He happily listens to her talk about her hobbies and friends she’s made - many of them with connections to the university. It makes him feel better, listening to someone older talking about their active life - his mother retired and spent all her time watching TV and complaining about the neighbors and the state of the world and everything under the sun. Eddie doesn’t want to do that.

Richie is the first one out of the car when Eddie stops at the pizza place Maggie called ahead to, saying a quick “I got it,” before Eddie or Maggie can even move to unbuckle their seatbelts. Eddie watches him walk into the restaurant with an overwhelming sense of love. It swells up sometimes so strongly he feels like he can’t breathe. Not in an unpleasant way, more like the way he likes Richie to lie on top of him sometimes, all crushing heat and safety. 

“Can I ask you something?” Maggie says next to him in the front seat.

It’s their first moment alone but Eddie doesn’t feel anxious about it, his eyes fixed on Richie through the window, watching him pull out his wallet as he talks to the person behind the counter, listening to the pleasant ticking of the engine cooling. “Of course,” Eddie says. 

“Is he happy?” Maggie asks and it makes Eddie’s throat tighten again. 

“Yes,” he says. “I think so.” _We’re working on it_. Almost every day since _the incident_ , as he thinks of it, Eddie has asked Richie how he’s feeling - really feeling. The first few days Richie rolled his eyes and said ‘I’m fine,’ but sometimes he talks about it; the stress he feels about his impending comeback show, his insecurities. He does seem happier though. Eddie is trying to trust that if he wasn’t happy he would let Eddie know. 

“I’m glad,” she says, both of them watching as Richie takes the pizza boxes and says something that makes the cashier laugh.

Maggie’s condo is nice. It feels warm and welcoming, family pictures through the years lining the walls. Eddie can’t take his eyes off of them, all the in-between Richie’s Eddie never got to interact with. 

“Mom,” Richie groans, looking at a framed newspaper clipping, a review of his first mainstream show. “You still have that? That’s embarrassing.” 

“What?” Maggie asks. “We were so proud of you, Richie.” 

“You said ‘ _I didn’t think it was very funny, Richard. Can’t you tell some clean jokes?’_ ” 

“I was still proud,” Maggie says. The clipping is right there when the front door opens, the first thing a visitor would see. “Come in, shoes off please. The kitchen is this way.” 

The pizza is objectively terrible but he’s hungry enough that it doesn’t stop him from digging into it - one artichoke and chicken with white sauce and one tomato with pesto. It’s not that bad if he doesn’t think of it as _pizza_ because it’s definitely not pizza, at least not by a New York City standard. Richie doesn’t say anything but from the look on his face when Eddie took his first bite he knows Richie knows he hates it. He didn’t come to Michigan for the pizza though, he came for Maggie and Richie and that part is good, or at least he thinks it’s good. Richie is quieter than normal, a little subdued but maybe he’s just on his best behavior because it’s his mother, it’s hard to tell. It seems to be going smoothly when Richie suddenly yelps and almost tips his chair over, a sudden blur of motion bolting out from under the table and away from the dining room so fast Eddie isn’t sure what he saw but his heart races.

“What the fuck?” Richie yells. 

“Language, Richard,” Maggie says, one hand to her chest and Eddie isn’t sure what was more shocking to her, the cursing or the mysterious dark blur. “We’re at the dinner table.” 

“What was that?” Richie asks, an edge of panic to his voice. 

“It was just Mr. Darcy,” Maggie says. “My cat,” she clarifies when Richie and Eddie just stare at her. 

“You have a cat named Mr. Darcy?” Richie laughs. “Like from _Pride and Prejudice_?” Eddie remembers watching that movie with Myra - one of them anyway, he knows there’s more than one but he’s never read the book or seen any other adaptations. The Mr. Darcy in the version he saw had sideburns that made Eddie feel something though. He looks at Richie’s sideburns. It feels like it means something. It probably just means he’s gay and he likes Richie’s sideburns. 

“Yes. My friend Shirley, the literature professor, just retired to England and she didn’t want to put him through the move. He’s shy but he’s a sweet boy when you get to know him.”

“Cute,” Richie says, looking amused. “You’re not allergic to cats, are you Eds?” 

“I don’t think so,” Eddie says. He feels fine. He has to remind himself that before Richie asked that his nose and throat were totally fine and they’ll continue to be fine because he’s not allergic to cats. 

“We’re going to get a dog,” Richie tells his mother. “Eddie needs a running companion.” 

Eddie doesn’t see Mr. Darcy again until they’re getting ready for bed, the guest bedroom door creaking open to reveal a black and white cat - a tuxedo cat? Eddie thinks they’re called tuxedo cats. His wide green eyes stare at Eddie and Eddie stares back, unsure what he’s supposed to do. “Hello,” he says quietly and Mr. Darcy blinks at him slowly. Eddie finishes putting away his toiletries and climbs into bed. It’s his home, Eddie isn’t going to kick the cat out, he can come or go as he likes. Eddie is the guest in this situation. 

It feels strange to be lying in Maggie Tozier’s guest bed waiting for her son to come join him. As a kid he wasn’t usually allowed to have sleepovers, especially at Richie’s house. This is different from a sleepover. Maggie knows they live together, knows they’re going to get married. She probably assumes they’re already having sex and it makes him feel weird if he thinks about it. There’s no casual and non-weird way to say ‘I promise not to fuck your son under your roof because that would be weird,’ but he wants to project that sentiment. It’s probably not necessary, he’s just being weird about it. She probably hasn’t even thought about it, why would she? It’s Eddie’s own hang up. There’s nothing inherently sexual about being gay. It’s his own internalized homophobia that’s screaming at him that his future mother-in-law is bothered by them sleeping together. She didn’t show them to the room though, just pointed down the hall while Richie took their bags to the guest room so maybe that put the thought into his head - that she didn’t want to be in the same room as the bed her gay son would be sharing with his gay lover. He’s overthinking things. 

He stops overthinking things when Mr. Darcy jumps onto his chest. “Um...hello again,” Eddie whispers as the cat settles onto his chest, staring him in the face and blinking. There’s a thing about cats stealing people’s breath, he’s pretty sure. He can’t remember where that’s from or why it was a thing but he pushes the thought down because there’s nothing malevolent about Maggie’s cat, he’s just curious and Eddie is lying down, a non-threatening position. The purring vibrates through Eddie’s chest. It’s pleasant but a little weird. 

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes when he comes into the room, his eyes wide. He’s wearing the matching plaid pajama set Eddie picked out for him. “This is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Language, Richard,” Eddie whispers, struggling not to laugh and scare away the cat. “Not in front of Mr. Darcy.” 

“Fucking Mr. Darcy,” Richie says quietly. “Let me get a picture.” He moves slowly, trying not to scare the cat off Eddie and he succeeds. Eddie doesn’t imagine they’re that compelling, he’s just lying there, completely under the blankets except his head, the cat on him. 

“Richie, have you seen, _oh_ ,” Maggie says from the doorway, a pink fluffy robe on to match her slippers, her curly hair out of a bun. “Oh that’s precious,” she says when she sees where her cat is.

“I think he likes me,” Eddie says. 

“I think so,” Maggie says. “Should I leave him here? Or should I take him?” 

“Um…” Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

“You’ll just lay there until he moves, won’t you?” Richie chuckles. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. 

“I’ll take him to bed with me,” Maggie says, crossing the room to remove Mr. Darcy from Eddie’s chest. He goes willingly, still purring. Eddie didn’t realize how shallowly he was breathing until the weight is gone from his chest. “Goodnight, boys. Sweet dreams.” She closes the door behind her. It wasn’t weird at all.

Eddie fully lets go of his anxiety when Richie turns off the light and gets into bed with him. “Can I hold you?” Eddie asks, moving into position when Richie rolls over to let Eddie be the big spoon. Eddie curls himself around Richie, wrapping an arm around him, burying his face in Richie’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good?” Richie says, sounding surprised. “It’s better than I thought it would be. Right? It’s not that weird.” 

“It’s good,” Eddie confirms, playing with one of the button’s on Richie’s pajama top. It feels strange, he sleeps without a shirt now, Eddie has gotten used to feeling his chest hair. “She asked me if you’re happy when you were picking up the pizzas.”

“She did?” Richie asks quietly. 

“I told her I thought you were. Are you happy, Rich?” 

“Yes,” he says. “I’m happy, Eds. You?” 

“I am too,” Eddie says, kissing the back of Richie’s neck gently. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Richie says. “This is totally new territory. I never had anyone I could bring to my parent’s house like this. I’m glad you’re my first. My only.” 

“Rich…” Eddie doesn’t know what to say so he holds Richie tight, kisses his neck again and hopes he can feel the undefinable feeling Eddie is trying to express. He thinks he does when Richie rolls over to kiss him softly and pull Eddie against his chest. 

The grey morning light outside reveals the smattering of fall colored leaves still clinging to the trees. Eddie sips at Richie’s coffee and eats his oatmeal while they flip through one of the photo albums Maggie set out for them. “Maybe you can use some of them at your wedding,” she suggests. Eddie loves that idea. His eyes feel watery as he looks at the pictures. They’re mostly of Richie, Eddie, Bill, and Stan because they were friends the longest. It overwhelms him, seeing Stan with them, seeing all the photos where they’re genuinely happy. There are a lot of photos where Richie is looking at Eddie, smiling widely. Some where Eddie is looking back, smiling back. He can see the love written all over his face in those pictures and he wonders how it took him so long to understand what he felt when he looked at Richie. 

“I should have known,” Maggie says, looking at the photo album as well. “Richie never shut up about you.” 

“Really?” Eddie asks, his cheeks heating up. 

“It was always ‘Eddie said this, Eddie did this, Eddie likes this,’ but I never thought…I think maybe I understand you a little better now, Richie.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie jokes although Eddie can tell from the look on his face what Maggie said affected him. “I was extremely subtle.” 

Maggie shows both of them how to make pie dough as she prepares things for tomorrow - it’s easier than he thought it would be. Eddie is very interested in brining turkey because it’s his favorite part of the meal and it’s surprisingly easy. He hates the texture of the raw meat as Maggie shows him what to do but it’s worth it for the end result. He and Richie chop vegetables for the stuffing to the tune of Carole King on vinyl and it’s already the best Thanksgiving Eddie’s had. There’s no yelling, no passive aggressive comments, no political views that make his head spin. Myra’s youngest sister, always the quiet one, had enough one year and got up in the middle of dinner and simply said ‘Ok. I’m done,’ and they never heard from her again. Eddie wished he followed her out the door.

“Is there a game today?” Maggie asks when they’ve finished preparing for tomorrow.

“Please no,” Richie says, drying his hands on the hand towel. 

“I’m not sure,” Eddie says, ignoring Richie’s objection. He’s still not sure if he actually enjoys football or if it was just something to watch and talk about with his coworkers, something to watch on Thanksgiving with the other men while Myra and her sister and sister-in-law argued in the kitchen. “Do you like football, Maggie?” 

“Not really,” she smiles. “Went liked it. I never understood it.” 

Maggie ends up taking them to the botanical garden she volunteers at. Eddie likes it, listening contentedly as she gives them information about the different plants and types of gardens. He’s never tried gardening, maybe he should give it a try. Richie looks more like a kid on a field trip he doesn’t want to be on. He only perks up when one of the employees comes over to chat with Maggie and she introduces Richie. “And this is his fiancé, Eddie,” she says and Eddie feels overwhelmed. 

On the way back to Maggie’s condo they receive a picture in the group chat of Mike and Bill grinning widely, an open pink donut box in their hands, angled up for the camera. There’s a single large chocolate coated donut in the box and it’s shaped like a dick with balls. _‘It’s cream filled,’_ texts Bill. Richie loses it, laughing in the front seat, Eddie trying to hold himself together in the back when they get a second picture of Bill, the tip of the donut in his mouth, his cheeks pink. 

“What’s so funny?” Maggie asks as she pulls into her parking space. 

“Are you sure you want to see?” Richie asks but Maggie insists she wants to see, leaning over before they get out of the car to look at the pictures. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she gasps. She giggles a little, obviously trying to hold it in. “Is that...Is that William Denbrough? And...Michael Hanlon?” 

“Yeah,” Richie snickers, pulling his phone away. The chat is exploding with notifications, mostly from Beverly. 

“Are they…” Maggie says and let’s the question hang. 

“No,” Eddie says at the same time as Richie says “yes.” “What?” Eddie says as they get out of the car. 

“Maybe not officially,” Richie says. “But give it time.” 

“No way,” Eddie says. “Bill is straight.” 

“Oh Eddie,” Richie chuckles. “I’d say we should put money on it but I can’t do that to your bank account.” 

Eddie doesn’t believe him. Bill hasn’t been separated from Audra that long and even if it was longer it doesn’t change the fact that Bill is definitely straight. They drop the subject after answering questions about what Mike and Bill have been up to - Maggie is shocked Bill was married to a movie star which makes Eddie feel better, everyone else seemed to treat it like it was totally normal. 

They spend the rest of the day chatting with Maggie and working on a jigsaw puzzle. “Why is this the inside of a suitcase?” Richie asks and Eddie is glad he did because Eddie was wondering the same thing. 

“It’s a mystery,” she says excitedly. “Look,” she hands Richie a booklet from the box with a background story about a crime. “You have to find the clues to solve the crime.” It’s actually fun even though Maggie has to sit on the booklet to stop Richie from trying to look up the right answer.

“Do you miss your dad?” Eddie asks that night in bed, Richie’s back to his chest again, Eddie’s hand splayed over Richie’s chest, enjoying the rise and fall of him breathing.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I should have visited more often. I should have been there for her. After.” 

“She seems happy,” Eddie says even though he knows it won’t chase away the guilt. 

“They were together so fucking long,” Richie says, lacing his fingers through Eddie’s and giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s not like we’ve ever been an emotionally open family but I didn’t even try. I didn’t even want to feel my own feelings. I stayed in a hotel and drained the minibar and cried myself to sleep and my aunt and uncle stayed with her.”

“You’re still a good son,” Eddie says, feeling the shaky breath Richie takes in response. “You can be there for her now.” Richie nods.

Thanksgiving dinner is delicious and so is the wine Maggie pours for them. It might be the influence of the wine that has her excusing herself to the bathroom after Richie asks if she would like to walk him down the aisle. “That’s lovely, Richard,” she says tearfully. “Please excuse me.” 

“I think that was a yes?” Richie whispers when she’s gone. 

“That was a yes,” Eddie says, helping himself to more turkey and gravy. 

She confirms it was a yes when she comes back. 

Eddie is pleasantly buzzed and full when they sit down to watch a Hallmark movie Eddie has never heard of. He’s very conscious that he and Richie haven’t been touching in front of Maggie, always a respectable distance between them but sitting on the couch he finds himself leaning into Richie, Richie’s arm lifting to let Eddie settle against his side, Eddie’s hand on Richie’s leg. Maggie doesn’t say anything about it but she gives them occasional teary smiles.

Overall, it feels like a successful trip when Maggie drops them back off at the airport on Saturday, giving them each a long hug. “That was wholesome and nice Eds but I hope you’re ready to drop your pants as soon as we’re home,” Richie leans over to whisper when they’re seated on the plane. Eddie is very ready. 

* * *

Eddie likes his therapist. She’s calm and has a lighthearted sense of humor and she likes that he came to his appointment with a list of topics to cover, even though they won’t be able to get to all of them in one visit. He leaves his first appointment with a list of recommended reading and some worksheets which he dives into like he’s going to be graded. He’s glad he and Richie will get a couple appointments in before they leave for Montana. It embarrasses Richie at first but Eddie gets him to practice positive self-talk even though Richie keeps insisting he’s going to lose his cynical comedian persona if Eddie keeps it up. 

“If you need to be negative for your job maybe you need a new job,” Eddie says. “Remember when you wanted to be a DJ?” 

“Great, now I have another backup. DJ and then trucker.” 

“Seriously, Rich. I want you to feel good about yourself,” Eddie insists, rubbing Richie’s ankle on his lap. 

Richie peers over the laptop resting on his stomach from where he’s stretched out on the couch. “Do you want to come to the show? It’ll be short. Just trying some stuff out again.” 

“Do you want me to go?” Eddie asks. Richie has been running jokes and bits by him but the first time he tried them in front of an audience at one of the small comedy clubs in LA he specifically said he didn’t want Eddie to go. 

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. Yes. Do you want to go?” 

“I want to go,” Eddie smiles at him. “It’ll be fun.” 

“You can’t heckle me, Eds. You’ve been inside of me, you’ve already seen me at my most vulnerable.” 

“I won’t heckle you,” Eddie promises. “If anyone heckles you I’ll fight them.” 

“Ok,” Richie grins at him. “I’d love to see that.” 

Richie opens his set by warning the audience that his fiancé is in the room and said he would fight anyone who heckles him so if they get bored and want to see his exaggeratedly small fiancé fight someone all they have to do is say something. Eddie is not as short or light as Richie tries to paint him but he gets it, it’s for the joke and he chuckles along nervously because that seems like an invitation for heckling but miraculously no one takes the bait. Steve is seated next to Eddie, taking constant notes. It was only minorly awkward when Eddie asked if he could sit next to him and then apologized for being rude when they met. “I thought you were an ex-lover,” he said and Steve turned bright red and reiterated what Richie said about their relationship always being professional. Eddie doesn’t bring up that the other reason for his coldness was his first impression of Steve after Richie came out. If Richie forgives him then Eddie is willing to give him a second chance. 

The audience enjoys Richie’s new material, a mix of his sexuality and some surprisingly insightful critiques of Gen X cynicism. Richie is full of nervous energy when Steve and Eddie meet him in the small backstage area after his set. It surprises Eddie, Richie looked so calm and collected on stage.

“I think they liked it, right? Was it good or were they just easy?” Richie asks, accepting Eddie’s hug. He feels sweaty.

“It was good,” Eddie says enthusiastically. “I laughed a lot.” 

“Steve?” Richie asks and Eddie tries not to let it annoy him. Steve is the expert after all, but if he doesn’t give Richie praise Eddie is going to have to rethink forgiving him. 

“It’s a great start,” Steve says but that must be enough for Richie because he seems to relax. “I took notes...You did good, Rich.” 

“Thanks,” Richie beams, one arm around Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Do you need anything?” Steve asks in a tone Eddie can’t quite define. 

“I’m good,” Richie says. “I just need to get In N Out with my fiancé and then - Things that if I say out loud to my manager they won’t happen.” 

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie laughs and elbows him in the side, his face turning red. 

He’s saying his name in a completely different way when they’re home and Eddie is freshly showered and splayed out on the bed, Richie’s mouth somewhere he never considered before. It feels surprisingly great. The leftover adrenaline and heightened attraction of watching Richie on stage lowered his inhibitions enough to say ‘yes’ when Richie asked if he could eat Eddie’s ass when they got home. All thought of it being unsanitary flew out the window when Richie touched his tongue to the sensitive ring of muscle and now Eddie can only moan and writhe until Richie has had enough teasing and fucks him. 

“Ass,” Richie reminds him when Eddie tries to kiss him, the two of them rocking against each other breathlessly. 

“I don’t care,” Eddie says as he cups Richie’s face and pulls him into a sloppy kiss because he’s too turned on to care about anything but the pleasure and how badly he wants to kiss Richie’s talented mouth. 

* * *

Richie was right about December in Southern California feeling different. It’s not as cold as Eddie is used to but that means he can comfortably take his tennis lessons and keep running in the park and sit out on the patio and read a book. He was also right about the lights on palm trees looking out of place but Eddie enjoys them. 

Richie didn’t have any holiday decorations so it’s the first thing he and Eddie get to fully buy together and they go a little overboard. It’s fun setting everything up together, making their home feel more festive. Everything is colorful and Eddie loves it. Myra always insisted on monochromatic decorations, the white lights were more tasteful and classy she said and Eddie had agreed, dutifully unpacking and assembling the tree and lights every year and watching as she decorated because he never did a good enough job. She never let him hang lights outside because she was convinced he would fall off the ladder and hurt himself and Eddie agreed, it was too dangerous but he feels perfectly safe with Richie at the bottom of the ladder feeding him more colorful lights and clips as Eddie strings them along the eaves. 

“I like this view,” Richie says from the bottom of the ladder and Eddie looks down to raise his eyebrows. He has to cling to the ladder when Richie reaches up and strokes Eddie’s bare calf. “Nice shorts, Eds,” he grins up at Eddie and Eddie rolls his eyes and goes back to the task at hand, his heart skipping a beat. 

“It’s too warm for pants,” Eddie says, ignoring that he’s wearing a sweater. It’s the best way to not feel overheated or cold in the mid-temperature of late fall in Southern California. “Now stop groping me and hold the fucking ladder.” 

“Yes sir,” Richie says from under him and Eddie can’t wait to be off the ladder and have Richie under him in a different way. 

The first date Eddie puts together for them in LA he takes Richie ice skating. They’re both terrible at it and Richie falls on his ass twice but neither of them can stop smiling and laughing and clutching at each other. He hasn’t been ice skating since he was a kid. He remembers going once in New York City, his first winter in the city, but it was crowded and he was too nervous to enjoy it, feeling that overwhelming sense of longing that would hit him sometimes in his life before he remembered what was missing. Stan’s family used to take them ice skating in Bangor - Stan, Eddie, Richie, and Bill, before the Losers Club was complete. It feels like another injustice that their families started moving away shortly after the summer they defeated It. 

Going from ice skating to walking along Santa Monica beach, the palm trees swaying in the breeze, makes him fall a little more in love with Southern California. It’s not too cold, the sky and ocean grey, the sky darkening as the sun sets. Richie hasn’t brought up moving since they got here so his satisfaction with it must have improved since Eddie moved in with him. 

“This is nice,” Richie says, his hand warm in Eddie’s. “It made me feel like a kid again. In a fun way, not in a sad way.” 

“Good,” Eddie smiles. “I hope you’re feeling adult enough for this,” he says before stopping and pressing himself against Richie, tasting the hot chocolate still on his lips. He smiles up at Richie after, taking in the affectionate look on his face. There’s hardly anyone on the beach in December so they soak up the solitude, sticking to the paved path because Eddie doesn’t want to get sand in his shoes. 

“Adulthood has its perks,” Richie says when they’re almost back to Eddie’s car, the new California plates still spotless. “Want to go buy some legal weed?” 

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Why not?” He planned on making them dinner when they got home but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.

“Great. I voted for it, I should be rewarded,” Richie grins. 

Eddie stays in the car while Richie makes his purchase and makes him wait until the eggplant parmesan is in the oven before they open the bag. “How do you want to do this?” Richie asks but Eddie has no idea what he’ll like so Richie pulls out his old bong from college. “It’ll feel less like smoking a cigarette,” he reasons and Eddie is fine with that. Tricking his brain into not immediately thinking he’s going to get lung cancer is a good idea. The smoke still makes him cough but Richie coughed too when he showed Eddie how to use the bong - “lips on the inside Eds, you’re not trying to blow it.” 

He gets it when it kicks in, stretched out between Richie’s legs on the chaise section of the couch, a nature documentary Richie selected playing on the TV. He feels pleasantly relaxed, like he’s melting into Richie. There’s a slight dream like quality to the feeling but it’s a pleasant dream. “You feeling it?” Richie asks, running a hand through Eddie’s hair. 

“I think so,” Eddie says, his voice sounding weird to his ears. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Eddie says. He feels tired but relaxed and like Richie is the most comfortable piece of furniture he’s ever sat on. His hands go to Richie’s bare legs on either side of him, stroking his leg hair like he’s a cat. 

“It’s an Indica. I thought you’d like it better,” Richie says. Eddie doesn’t know what an Indica is but he knows that Richie picked it out for him so it makes him happy. It makes him oddly emotional when people think about his feelings. 

It’s hard to peel himself off the couch when the timer in the kitchen goes off but he does it because he’s hungry and food has never smelled so good. Food has never tasted so good either as they dig into the eggplant parmesan and garlic bread. Usually Eddie insists on eating at the table but tonight it’s alright to eat in front of the TV.

“I like being a comedian,” Richie says as they’re stretched out on the couch, their plates stacked on the coffee table instead of the sink.

“Ok,” Eddie says, unsure where that came from.

“I love my job and I want you to support me,” Richie says. 

“I support you,” Eddie blinks at him. Richie’s eyes are bloodshot but still pretty. “Do you not feel supported?” 

“When you said I should get a new job it upset me,” Richie says. 

It takes Eddie a moment to remember what he’s talking about. That conversation happened last week but there’s no time limit on bringing this kind of thing up, Eddie is just happy Richie didn’t hold it in. “Sorry.” Eddie strokes Richie’s cheek, feeling the stubble under his fingers. “I support you doing what you love. And I think you’re great at. Not just because I love you.” 

“Really?” Richie asks. 

“Yes, Rich,” Eddie smiles at him and then leans in and kisses him softly, pulling away to whisper all the things he loves about Richie against his skin until they imbed themselves there. 

* * *

Ben’s Georgetown Lake house is more normal than Eddie was anticipating. It looks a bit out of place considering the traditional cabins they caught sight of through the trees but Eddie can see what he was going for - it’s a _contemporary_ cabin. Eddie honks the horn of the rental car as Beverly instructed him to and then the garage door opens for them. It’s huge, Ben and Mike’s cars already parked inside, a kayak and a small boat to the side and there’s still plenty of room for Eddie to park.

“Welcome,” Beverly grins at them, giving each of them a warm hug. Richie compliments her on her oversized flannel shirt that must belong to Ben and she does a spin followed by a dramatic runway walk as she leads them into the house. It feels good to see her so carefree and happy.

Bill was quiet for most of the trip, so quiet Eddie actually forgot he was sitting in the backseat at one point, startled when Bill commented that it was cool how Eddie knows how to drive on snow. It’s understandable that he’s subdued, it’s his first Christmas separated from Audra. As Beverly shows them around the house he perks up, Ben and Mike rising from their seats in front of the large fireplace to greet them, mugs in hand, followed by Ben and Beverly’s dog Coco. She seems nervous, sticking to Ben’s side. “She’ll warm up to you soon,” Ben promises. It feels good to see everyone in the same place again, to be surrounded by the easy chatter of his closest friends.

The ground floor of the house is almost completely open, making it perfect for maintaining conversation as people move around to get snacks or drinks - all non-alcoholic, which Ben is too apologetic about, none of them have a problem with a dry holiday celebration. 

“How was rehab?” Richie asks and Eddie is taken aback by the question. They haven’t talked about it, just wished Ben well when he went in and congratulated him when he got out. 

Ben doesn’t seem upset about it. “It was good,” Ben says. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. It helped knowing I had people supporting me. Someone waiting for me,” he says, smiling at Beverly and she reaches over and takes his hand. “Stan was there for me too,” he says and then he sighs. “You know things are bad when your bartender supports you getting sober.” 

“You had a bartender?” Richie asks. “Like a live-in bartender?” 

“No,” Ben laughs. “I went to the bar every day I was in Hemingford Home. Ricky Lee, the bartender, he’s a solid guy. I have his number now, so we can stay in touch.” 

“Are you both going to live in Nebraska?” Richie asks. “Bev running her fashion empire from a corn field would be pretty funny.” 

“We’re playing it by ear,” Beverly says. 

“Corn has ears,” Richie says. 

“That wasn’t even a joke, that was just a fact,” Eddie says fondly. 

“Playing it by corn?” Bill offers.

“Why don’t you guys workshop that,” Beverly laughs. “Is anyone hungry?”

Ben and Beverly take their role as hosts seriously, insisting on providing meals even though Eddie thinks it would be more fair if they split up the cooking. Watching Ben and Beverly in the kitchen together makes him see why they wanted to cook though. They have an easy, playful dynamic in the kitchen and Eddie finds himself engrossed as they make dinner, watching how happy and natural they are with each other, Eddie sitting on one of the island stools and asking questions about Ben’s salmon recipe. 

When Eddie and Richie retreat to their room for the night they’re amused to find Ben or Beverly snuck into their room and turned the blanket down and put mints on their pillows. “This place has everything,” Richie says, gesturing to the fireplace across from the bed and wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Do you really want to?” Eddie asks, failing to suppress his yawn. 

“Not tonight,” Richie says mercifully, stretching out on the bed, still fully clothed. 

It’s cold though so Eddie turns on the gas fireplace and opens the curtain to stare at the peaceful snowy landscape, the snow blue tinted in the dark, slightly illuminated by moonlight. It’s beautiful. The lake is probably out there somewhere but Eddie can’t be sure where it starts, everything outside is covered in snow, the lake frozen. He saw some people ice fishing on it when they arrived. He hopes none of them want to ice fish because as much as he’s been open to new experiences hanging out on a frozen lake catching fish isn’t at all appealing. 

“I don’t remember the last time I had a white Christmas,” Richie says, slotting himself against Eddie from behind, wrapping his arms around him and leaning into him. “It must have been in Derry.” 

“We should have a snowball fight,” Eddie says, leaning back against Richie. “Even though you always played dirty.” 

“What? Me? Never,” Richie says, his chuckle vibrating against Eddie’s back. 

“You used to sneak up on me and shove snow down my sweater. No matter how tight I wrapped my scarf you always got it down there, asshole.” Eddie tries to sound serious but the memory makes him smile. 

“Well yeah, Eds,” Richie chuckles warmly. “If I did that, then you’d push me down and we’d end up wrestling. What did you think I wanted out of it?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, feeling his face heat up. Richie leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck doesn’t help. “I just thought you were an asshole who liked picking on me. I liked it though. It was fun.” 

“It was fun,” Richie agrees, his warm breath on Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie turns around to kiss him, his hands on Richie’s chest guiding him backwards toward the bed. “I thought you were tired,” Richie says when they break the kiss, Richie sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I am,” Eddie says, looking down at Richie - his Richie who he loved even before he knew what he was feeling. He looks tired from their day of crowded holiday travel but he looks just as beautiful as Eddie always thinks he does. Eddie runs his thumb over Richie’s bottom lip. “Handjob in the shower, then sleep?”

“Good thinking, Kaspbrak,” Richie says, a glint in his eye. Eddie’s stomach drops a little. They haven’t talked about Eddie wanting to take Richie’s last name yet. Maybe he won’t want that for some reason. “Two birds one stone.” 

Eddie leans down for one more kiss before collecting his toiletry bag and pajamas, leading Richie to their private bathroom. Ben really designed two master bedrooms, although the one he and Beverly are in is bigger. There’s still a generous shower in this bathroom, and a separate bath, a basket of bath bombs on the edge. Eddie might actually use one this trip, he’s started to appreciate a nice bath - the secret is to shower first so he’s not sitting in dirty water. 

The thing about being familiar with each other now is that when they want to make it quick it’s easy to make each other finish as fast as possible. Eddie would admire the efficiency of it if his mind wasn’t occupied with the pleasure of kissing Richie under the warm water, Richie’s hand working him over the edge with practiced ease as he does the same. He lets Richie wrap around him when they crawl into bed, enjoying the warmth. 

“I want everyone to know these are clean pajamas,” Richie says the next morning as he and Eddie join the others for breakfast - waffles dyed green and arranged on the plate like Christmas trees. “Because Eddie can’t lounge around in dirty pajamas. He always has to change them.” 

“You’re saying that like it’s not fucking sanitary,” Eddie says, looking around at everyone else for support. Everyone else is also in pajamas. “Guys?” 

“We didn’t change,” Beverly shrugs. “I put on a bra, if that counts.” 

“Gross, boobs,” Richie says. 

“Shut up, Trashmouth,” Beverly grins dangerously at him. “You can’t talk shit wearing that shirt.” 

“What, this?” Richie puffs out his chest, ‘I put out for Santa’ stretched out across his chest with an illustration of cookies and milk. It matches Eddie’s shirt which simply says ‘Santa.’ He flexes and poses, making everyone laugh. They had such a hard time deciding who would wear which shirt they bought them both in Richie’s size, the ‘Santa’ shirt comfortably baggy on Eddie. 

“I love it,” Ben says. “It’s cute.” 

“I can’t look away,” Bill says, his eyes fixed to Richie’s chest.

“Hey, stop ogling me,” Richie says, throwing an arm over his chest protectively. 

“I wasn-” Bill sputters but they all laugh again, including Bill. 

Eddie’s cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so long by the time they’re done with breakfast. He’s never had a Christmas Eve like this. Aching from laughing, completely carefree as they go through the stack of Christmas movies Ben and Beverly provided. Even as he and Richie argue over the merits of _Die Hard_ being a Christmas movie he’s having the time of his life, a blanket draped over his and Richie’s lap on the couch. Despite the blanket and the fire his feet are cold so he heads upstairs for more layers, passing Bill’s open bedroom door on the way. He doesn’t mean to snoop but it’s wide open and the bed is still neatly made except the turned down corner, a mint on the pillow despite Bill’s suitcase being open on the bed. Beverly and Ben have been downstairs all day. There’s no fresh mint on Richie and Eddie’s bed. Did Bill not sleep in his bed? There’s only four bedrooms. Bill’s room doesn’t have a fireplace so maybe he got cold and slept on the couch downstairs. He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him.

“Hey Bill,” Eddie says as he’s walking downstairs, two layers of socks on. “Where did you sleep, dude?” The room goes quiet for a moment before Richie starts laughing. Eddie isn’t sure why that was funny until he sees the color rushing to Bill’s face, how close he’s sitting to Mike on the couch. “Oh shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have - Shut up Richie! It’s not fucking funny.”

Richie tries to reel in his reaction, laughter subsiding into giggles as he eyes Mike and Bill on the other end of the couch. 

“So…” Beverly says. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” Ben says after her, his brow creased with worry. 

“Let’s just not make a big deal about it,” Mike says easily. Eddie doesn’t know how he can look so calm, no one else looks that calm and Eddie just accidentally outed him and Bill because he’s an idiot and didn’t put it together. How could Richie tell? Eddie had no idea this was brewing. He really thought Bill was straight and possibly still hung up on Beverly despite what he said to the contrary.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s ok, Eddie,” Bill smiles weakly at him. “It’s um. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.” 

Now Eddie is worried for a different reason. If Bill is using Mike as a rebound Eddie is going to be furious. Bill can’t do that to Mike, he deserves better, and it could destroy their friendship, put a crack in the foundation of the group. Then he feels like a hypocritical asshole for thinking that because he and Richie got together so soon with no regard for how it would look or what it would do to them as a group if it didn’t work out.

The best he can do is hold his worry in until he and Bill have a moment alone when they both get up to go to the bathroom - or rather Bill gets up and Eddie not very subtly follows him. “Bill, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says quietly in the hall. “I have to ask though. Is it serious?” 

“It’s...I don’t know,” Bill says and Eddie’s heart sinks. 

“If this is a rebound thing,” Eddie says, his heartbeat in his throat. Bill looks worried. This is making his list of top ten awkward conversations. Maybe top five. 

“It’s not,” he says quickly. “It’s just. We haven’t even kissed yet. I just like being close to him. I like when he holds me. I…” Bill blushes and Eddie is struck by how cute he still is. “I love him.”

“What about Audra?”

“It’s over,” Bill says and he doesn’t look that pained about it, not like he did in Philadelphia. “We’ve talked about it. When she gets back we’re making it official. The divorce. I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt, I just...What Mike and I have feels special. It’s different. He really gets me, it’s like...Fuck.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Eddie says. “I’m happy for you both. Really. Sorry again. I didn’t mean to out you like that.” 

“It’s alright, Eddie,” Bill smiles at him, warm and sincere and it feels exactly like it always did when they were kids, like Bill smiling so privately at him made Eddie special, friend and confidant to _Bill Denbrough_. “It kind of took the pressure off.”

Eddie forgives himself when Bill comes back from the bathroom and Mike puts his arm around him, mirroring Eddie and Richie’s position on the other side of the couch, Beverly with her arm around Ben on the love seat, Coco with her head on Beverly’s lap. It fills him with love for his friends, seeing them so content and happy even as his chest aches, missing Stan. They never got to meet Patty. From the way Stan talked about her she would have fit in. 

“ _Gremlins_ next?” Richie asks. 

“That’s not a Christmas movie either,” Eddie huffs. 

“Then why did Ben put it in the pool?” Richie asks because he knows Eddie has always reserved this kind of arguing for him alone. 

“It takes place over Christmas,” Ben says sheepishly. “Doesn’t that make it a Christmas movie?” 

“No,” Eddie declares, moving his hands out from under the blanket to make his point better. “A Christmas movie’s central theme revolves around _Christmas_ , not a hostage situation and not ugly little monsters.” 

“Wow, wow, wow Eddie, you did not just call Mogwai ugly,” Richie says. 

“Their eyes are creepy. They’re too big,” Eddie says and to his surprise everyone laughs. “ _What_?”

“Eddie, honey,” Beverly laughs. “You’ve got big eyes too.”

“They’re not that big,” Eddie insists. 

“They kind of are,” Ben says and Eddie huffs. 

“Bambi eyes,” Mike says fondly. “That’s what Richie used to call them.” 

“I love your big doe eyes, Eds,” Richie says, catching Eddie’s chin and turning it to look at him. His breath catches in his throat. They haven’t been this intimate in front of their friends but Eddie leans into the kiss, ignoring the wolf whistle from Beverly. “I finally got to live my lifelong dream of fucking Bambi,” Richie says against his lips, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“That’s disgusting,” Eddie laughs, pushing him away. “What the fuck?” 

Richie grins lecherously, grabbing Eddie to drag him closer. Eddie lets himself go, insults he doesn’t mean flowing from his mouth. 

“ _Scrooged_?” Mike asks over the noise. His suggestion gets more votes than Richie’s. 

Now that Eddie knows there’s something going on between Mike and Bill he feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner. The way they look at each other is undeniably filled with love and not the kind of love Eddie has for his friends. He always thought he was pretty attuned to what was going on with his friends but maybe he has a blind spot when it comes to romance. Even as a kid he could never tell that Bill and Ben liked Beverly, Richie was the one to tell him. 

“How did you know?” Eddie asks Richie when they’re alone that night. “About Mike and Bill?”

“I don’t know,” Richie shrugs, towel around his waist. Eddie has a hard time not staring at his bare chest. “Just a feeling.”

There must be more to it than that but maybe there isn’t, maybe it’s just one of those things like Eddie’s sense of direction - something he can’t explain or define. Or how he just knows to do certain things sometimes, like taking his car to Boston, when usually he’d be paralyzed by indecision or anxiety. Sometimes he just knows things and sometimes Richie knows them instead, or any of the other Losers. 

“Also they won’t stop looking at each other with fuck me eyes,” Richie says. “Speaking of,” he adds, batting his eyelashes at Eddie. 

“That’s not how they look at each other,” Eddie laughs. 

“No? Then what about…” He gives Eddie an exaggerated pursed lip smolder and Eddie laughs harder. “Come on, Eds, I don’t know how to be sexy.” 

“Yes you do,” Eddie says. “You do it all the time.” 

“What do I do?” Richie asks, standing near the edge of the bed, his attempts at humor gone now.

“You,” Eddie waves his hands around at Richie. “I don’t know. Give me _fuck me eyes_. Whatever you call it. Exist. You’re just sexy, Rich.”

“When was your last eye exam?” Richie asks and Eddie shakes his head. 

“Come here,” he pats the mattress next to him and Richie obliges, crawling across the bed, the towel coming undone around his waist. “Leave it,” he says when Richie reaches to fix it. Richie leaves it and stretches out next to Eddie as Eddie rolls to his side to face him. Eddie runs a hand over Richie’s hip and waist. “Are you cold?” he asks because Richie has goosebumps. 

“Not really,” Richie says, his voice low, looking at Eddie with half-lidded eyes. The fireplace is the only light in the room, sending waves of warm light flickering over his skin. 

“There it is,” Eddie smiles at him. “That look right there.” The look is immediately gone from Richie’s face, replaced by a skeptical raise of his brow. “When you look at me like you want me just as bad as I want you. That’s fucking hot.” He cups Richie’s face, tracing the line of his jaw. Richie leans into the touch, his eyes closing. “Do you still want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” Richie says, his eyes opening. 

“In front of the fire? Or the bed?” Eddie asks, running his hand through Richie’s chest hair, running a thumb over one of his nipples. 

“Fire,” Richie says. “One of us is going to end up with fucked knees though.” 

“You’re only young once,” Eddie says and Richie laughs. 

“Neither of us is young, Eds.” 

“No?” Eddie asks, stroking Richie’s shoulder. “We don’t have arthritis yet. So lets fucking do this. How do you want me?” 

“From behind?” Richie asks, that uncertain look on his face again, like Eddie will make fun of him for wanting to get fucked. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Eddie leans in to kiss him. 

It doesn’t work for long. Eddie is still working out a good rhythm, enjoying the view of Richie below him, the expanse of his back and shoulders, the feeling around his cock, the dance of firelight on his skin, when Richie breathlessly tells him to stop. Eddie stops immediately. “My wrists are killing me, Eds,” Richie turns his head to say, his face red. 

“It’s ok,” Eddie says. They’ve also been sliding a bit on the blanket they laid down but it wasn’t bothering him, not when he had Richie wrapped around his cock. “Do you want pillows?” Eddie’s knees haven’t started hurting yet but it’s a possibility. Richie nods and Eddie withdraws gently to gather the pillows from the bed, stacking them in front of Richie so he has something to lean on, resting on his forearms. “This good?” Eddie checks in when he’s repositioned, stroking the small of Richie’s back.

“Better,” Richie says, his face turned to the side. He doesn’t sound confident about it. 

“We can change positions,” Eddie says. “Whatever you want.” He leans forward and kisses Richie’s back, waiting to enter him again until Richie is comfortable. “I just want to make you feel good, baby. You don’t know how fucking sexy you are.”

It takes a moment but Richie sits up slowly and turns to face him. “Lie down,” he says quietly and Eddie does as he says, lying down in front of the fireplace, enjoying the warmth of it. The floor isn’t exactly comfortable but he has to admit it has a nice ambiance, light flickering over Richie’s body as he gets up to retrieve his glasses from the bedside table. Eddie watches with interest as he returns, excitement as he lowers himself to straddle Eddie’s lap. He loves when Richie wears his glasses when they have sex. It lets Eddie know Richie wants to see Eddie’s expression just as badly as Eddie wants to see his. 

“I love this,” Eddie whispers, reverently running his hands up Richie’s waist and sides, back down to his hips. “You have no idea what you look like.” 

“I have some idea,” Richie says wryly. “I forgot there’s a mirror over there.” 

Eddie looks awkwardly behind him as best as he can, catching the light on the mirror against the wall. “Do you want to switch sides?” Eddie asks. 

“No,” Richie says, staring down at Eddie. “It’s fine.” He reaches between them to grasp Eddie’s hard cock, guiding it back inside of himself. 

“Whatever you want,” Eddie says, feeling breathless at the sight of Richie lowering himself onto his cock. The heat envelopes him again and it’s so good his fingers tighten on Richie’s hips. “Does that feel good?” 

Richie nods, the kind of overwhelmed look on his face that Eddie knows makes it hard for him to vocalize. “It’s good,” he says, testing out some movement, figuring out how to move his legs and hips to make him feel good. 

They’ve never done this position with Richie on top before. Eddie can’t take his eyes off of him, watching the look of concentration and pleasure on his face. “You’re beautiful,” Eddie says, gripping Richie’s thighs, feeling the muscles work. “So fucking hot.” To his surprise Richie’s half-lidded gaze opens wider and flicks up to the mirror for a second. “Do you see that?” Eddie asks. “You can look at yourself, Rich, baby. You can like what you see.” Richie looks at him for a long moment before his eyes go back up and fix on the mirror. Eddie doesn’t want to break him out of whatever kind of moment he’s having so he touches everywhere, trying to show Richie appreciation with his touch, gently rocks his hips up to meet Richie, drawing a moan from him. “You look so good,” Eddie says when Richie looks back down at him. “You feel so fucking good. Do you like how you look riding my cock?” Richie nods slowly, lips parted as he breathes heavily. “You can look more, don’t be shy sweetheart.” Richie looks back up, picking up the pace as he rides Eddie’s cock. “That’s it, fuck. Can I touch you?” 

“Yes,” Richie breathes out and Eddie wraps his hand around Richie’s cock and starts stroking it, eliciting another moan from him. It goes straight to Eddie’s cock, his hips snapping up faster, his orgasm building deep inside of him. 

“You’re gonna make me come,” Eddie pants. “You’re so good, Rich, so sexy, I love you.” 

“Love you,” Richie breathes back and then Eddie is tipping over the edge, spilling into Richie’s warmth. Eddie’s head thunks back onto the floor but he doesn’t care about the pain, his eyes still fixated on Richie, his hand still stroking Richie’s hard length as Richie seats himself on Eddie’s cock, grinding against him as Eddie works him over the edge, Richie spilling onto Eddie’s hand and stomach. “Fuck,” Richie says when he’s done. “Do you think they heard?” 

“Probably not. We weren’t that loud,” Eddie says, still trying to catch his breath. “I thought you didn’t care?” 

“Why would I care if our friends knew I was taking it up the ass?” Richie asks, easing himself off of Eddie. His legs are shaky. 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to walk around like you got railed for Christmas?” Eddie struggles to remember his exact wording.

“Sounds like me,” Richie says and before he can get up to grab tissues Eddie pulls him closer, sitting up to kiss him softly. “It’s embarrassing,” Richie says, pulling back to stroke Eddie’s cheek, his eyes warm and skin flushed. The exertion and heat from the fireplace made them both sweaty. “Sometimes I joke about things I wish I was confident about.” 

“That’s ok,” Eddie says, turning his head to kiss Richie’s palm.

“You’re so fucking bold, Eds. When we went out for dinner with Mike after I fucked you so hard I thought you’d bleed…” 

“That wasn’t bravery, Rich. That was a breakdown,” Eddie says, his stomach twisting. That was the inciting incident that made Richie scared he’d been unfaithful, the sudden shift in his behavior. “I didn’t give a fuck about anything.” As amazing as the sex was the memory is tarnished now but they can do it again, next time without any misunderstandings. 

“It was still badass,” Richie smiles at him softly. “Now will you excuse me? I'm going to leak on Ben’s nice blanket.” 

Eddie watches him walk awkwardly to the bathroom with his thighs stuck together and tries not to laugh. He’s never once regretted letting Richie come inside him, as gross as the logical part of his brain says it should be he can’t help but find it erotic and intimate and Richie seems to feel the same way. 

“Was the mirror thing weird? I thought it was hot,” Eddie says when they’re in the shower, Richie’s hands buried in Eddie’s hair, working in the shampoo. He loves the way Richie washes his hair, his strong hands massaging Eddie’s scalp.

“Why not both?” Richie asks, gently tilting Eddie’s head back so he can rinse the shampoo out. 

“I just -” Eddie says and then closes his mouth because there’s soapy water running down his face. “I never feel sexy,” he finishes when he’s shampoo free. “Except when you’re looking at me -”

“Oh, so all the time,” Richie interrupts. 

“No, shut up,” Eddie laughs. “When you look at me like I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen.” 

“So all the time?” Richie repeats with a grin and Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“When you’re turned on. Your face goes all...I don’t know, it’s hot and it makes me feel hot. I want you to feel like that.” 

Richie falls silent as they wash themselves and Eddie lets him think, let’s him take time to say “it made me feel something. Looking in the mirror. I don’t know what the fuck to call it.” 

“Was it good or bad?” Eddie asks.

“Good,” Richie says. “Ready?” Eddie nods, the two of them toweling off. 

“I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” Eddie says. 

“Watch out Eds, don’t set up any _Freaky Friday_ shit.” 

“Shut up, I’m trying to tell you that you're desirable and I love you.” 

“And I’m trying to tell you I can’t take a fucking compliment even though I live off them,” Richie says, quickly twisting his towel and snapping it at Eddie, a spike of adrenaline coursing through him as it hits his ass. He yelps. “Ok, now that might have woken people up.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie says as he pulls on his pajama pants. 

“My eyesight is shit so it wouldn’t be that impressive if you got to see how I see you,” Richie says, draping his towel over his head again and drying his hair more. “But I wish you knew how I felt about you.” 

“Rich,” Eddie says, his throat suddenly tight. 

“I’m fucking crazy about you, Eddie. Sometimes I don’t know what to do with all this love. And then I freak myself out and say stupid shit because it’s only a matter of time until -” 

“Rich,” Eddie says. “Look at me, sweetheart.” Richie drapes the towel around his shoulders and Eddie hands him his glasses so he can actually see Eddie’s face. 

“I love you so fucking much. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together, remember?” Eddie holds up his wrist to show him their engagement bracelet, the ‘R + E’ against his wrist. “We’re a fucking team.” 

“Yeah,” Richie smiles at him, warm and genuine and Eddie watches his throat bob as he swallows hard. “I trust you, Eds.” 

“I trust you too,” Eddie says. Richie has continued to tell him that since last month, continued to apologize. It hurt to sit down and dissect again but they've gone through it a few times since then, calmly. Richie says it one more time as they settle into bed, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him, pulling him close. Eddie can feel the wound close a little more every time Richie shows him it’s true. 

No one mentions overhearing anything the next morning, no one even looks twice at Richie as he makes his way downstairs on shaky legs. Christmas hasn’t been special to Eddie since he was a kid but walking down the stairs and seeing the tree lit up and his friends milling around the fireplace, presents under the tree does something to his heart. As he grew older Christmas was always a painfully awkward event, either stuck at his aunt’s house, which was like having two of his mother’s worrying over him, or stuck with Myra’s dysfunctional family. 

He’s not expecting many gifts - they’re all adults and most of them are well off enough to just buy whatever they want for themselves but everyone still brought presents. Beverly likes the yo-yo from Tiffany’s. “You can use it as a paperweight,” Eddie says when she thanks him, laughing with joy as she handles its weight in her hand. 

“Here, Eds,” Richie hands him a small box with a bow on top. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s expecting - jewelry maybe, Richie has developed a thing for jewelry, but the box is heavy. The furthest thing from his mind is in the box. He stares at Richie’s gift, trying to wrap his mind around it as his fingers skim the surface.

“How?” he asks, unable to look away. He pries it out of the box. In his hands is a piece of Derry, their piece, a segment of the kissing bridge, R + E, carved deeper than before and encased in a protective barrier. 

“Mike and I took a saw to the fence before we left Derry,” Richie says. It takes a moment but Eddie remembers. The night Richie and Mike got high and Eddie fell asleep. Richie said they had an errand to run. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it, Rich,” Eddie says. “It’s the best fucking thing anyone’s ever given me. No offence,” he adds, looking up to see if he offended anyone. No one is offended. “I can’t believe...How did you do this?” 

“Ben did it for me,” Richie says and Eddie looks over at Ben, trying to stop his eyes from watering. 

“I didn’t do much,” Ben says. “Just sealed it and coated it in an epoxy resin.” 

“Thank you. And Mike. Wow. I can’t fucking believe…” He’s getting overwhelmed again, looking at their initials. “This means so much,” Eddie says quietly, just for Richie. “I love you so fucking much. What the fuck? I’m…” 

“I love you too, Eds,” Richie says quietly, wrapping his arms around Eddie. Eddie turns into him gladly, hiding his face in the crook of Richie’s neck so he can let the tears fall without eyes on him. 

“Does this mean there’s a hole in the fence now?” Bill asks, his voice amused. 

“Yeah,” Mike confirms. “Maybe they finally replaced it. The city council has been talking about it for years.” 

“It didn’t look structurally sound,” Ben says. 

“When was safety ever important in Derry?” Bill says.

“My present for you sucks,” Eddie says into Richie’s neck. “I can’t believe you do this.” He clings to Richie, enjoying the feeling of his arms around him, breathing him in and falling even deeper in love. “This was so fucking thoughtful, Rich.” 

“Thank fuck,” Richie says. “I’ve been sitting on this for months thinking it might be fucking stupid.” 

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, hugging Richie tighter. “It’s not stupid. It’s the best. You’re the best.” 

“Great, glad to know I set the bar so high on our first Christmas I can never possibly top it.” 

“Knock it off with the negative thinking,” Eddie says and then nips at Richie’s neck to punctuate his point. 

“Ow, fuck, Eds,” Richie pulls away from him quickly but he’s laughing. 

Richie says he likes Eddie’s presents but Eddie feels embarrassed about the leather bound journal and ruby stud earring he got Richie. It doesn’t feel like enough, nothing could possibly be more meaningful than their piece of the kissing bridge. Eddie can’t wait to put it in their home along with the road trip collage Mike made them. Beverly got them a card with a promise to make them suits for their wedding for free and Ben crocheted them all blankets.

“I picked it up in rehab,” Ben tells them. “I’m still learning but I tried my best.” 

“This is literally flawless Ben, what the fuck?” Richie says, examining the colorful blanket he gave to him and Eddie. “You’re good at too many things, it’s infuriating.” 

“We love it,” Eddie translates. 

“I uh. I also thought I’d take everyone skiing. Whoever wants to go tomorrow. The mountain is pretty close and the powder is good this time of year.” 

None of them have been skiing before but they all agree to go. Mike looks especially excited about it.

It’s cold and his left shoulder is sore and he can’t walk right with his feet strapped into the skis and it’s making him feel trapped and a little panicky but he still makes himself go down the beginner’s hill twice before he calls it quits and heads to the lodge to returns the gear Ben rented for them. Richie goes with him. 

“You don’t have to go with me,” Eddie tells him as he tries to make his way to the rental area. He feels like one of those dogs who forgets how to walk when their owner puts shoes on them. People in his office always laughed at those videos but Eddie always thought they were sad. 

“This sucks,” Richie says, breath coming out in clouds. “I just didn’t want to be the first to quit.” 

“I’m not quitting,” Eddie says. “I’m just done.” 

“Well I’m quitting,” Richie says. “Do you want to get a snow tube?”

Eddie stops to look over at the section of the mountain where people are sliding down on big inflatable tubes, dragging them back up the hill. He’s never done snow tubing but the sight fills him with nostalgia. “Sure,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

It’s fun, way more fun than skiing. He can’t help laughing, gripping the handles of the tube as he and Richie slide down, the landscape a white blur. He can hear Richie yelling and laughing on the cleared track next to him. There’s a small hill of snow near the end and he actually catches air, his stomach dropping as he spins and skids to a stop facing the hill he just slid down, feeling breathless. Richie looks frazzled, one hand on the side of his face. 

“You ok?” Eddie asks as he pulls himself out of the tube. 

“I’m fine,” Richie laughs. “Almost lost my glasses.” 

Eddie remembers sledding with Richie, Stan, and Bill during Derry winters. Almost every year Richie lost his glasses and the others had to go looking for them. One year Richie just pretended to lose his glasses and when he finally pulled them out of his pocket it became a three on one snowball fight that ended up making Eddie feel so bad he defected and threw a snowball at Stan. 

“Remember when we used to go sledding?” Eddie huffs out as they make their way back up the hill. 

“Yeah,” Richie says, he’s slightly behind Eddie but he can hear the smile in Richie’s voice. “You always tried to ra-” Eddie takes off, his lungs burning from the freezing air, legs trying to propel him up the hill as fast as he can. He hears the sound of surprise Richie makes and then the huff of him breathing hard. They’re close to the top, to the small line of other people who chose this over skiing or snowboarding, mostly families with children. He likes running but he never runs on anything this steep and the snow and elevation aren’t helping. He still makes it there before Richie. 

“You let me win,” Eddie manages to say. “I never win.” 

“I...Fuck…” Richie pants, his breath coming out in big clouds, “I didn’t let you win, dude.” 

“You have longer legs,” Eddie says, enjoying the ache in his lungs and legs, the adrenaline of the race. 

“Yeah, well. You’re in better shape. We’re not kids anymore, Eds. My legs don’t mean shit.” 

“I love your legs.” 

“Maybe I should start exercising,” Richie says, a hand against his side. 

“We could turn the fourth bedroom into a gym,” Eddie suggests. Richie was right about his house being a lot of space for one person but he turned two of the bedrooms into a guest room and an office while the fourth room had become a mostly empty storage room.

“Great thinking,” Richie says but Eddie can’t tell if he’s being serious. “You can whip me into shape, Coach Kaspbrak.” 

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Eddie says, his heart beating fast for a different reason now. 

“I’ve never called you coach before.” 

“Not that part,” Eddie says. He resists the urge to hide his face in his scarf and looks Richie in the eyes. His glasses are slightly steamy. “Kaspbrak. I don’t want to be a Kaspbrak.” Richie doesn’t say anything and Eddie thinks maybe he didn’t understand. “I’ve been a Kaspbrak for forty years and it sucks. I thought…maybe being a Tozier would be better.” 

“You,” Richie lets out a breath that fogs up his glasses more, Eddie watches his eyes blink rapidly behind the foggy surface. “You want to take my last name?” 

“Is that a problem?” 

“No,” Richie responds quickly. “I just assumed. I don’t know. I assumed we’d keep our own names.” 

“Oh,” Eddie says, tapping snow off the tip of his boot. “Well I want to be Edward Tozier. If that’s alright with you.” 

“Of fucking course, Eds,” Richie laughs. “Holy shit. I…Shit if I cry will it turn into ice?” 

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, reaching for one of Richie’s gloved hands. He wants to feel his skin but this will have to do for now, squeezing through the thick layers. 

“You’re sure? It’s ok to change your mind.” 

“I’m sure, Rich. I’ve been thinking about it for over a month. We’re going to be the Toziers.” 

“The Toziers. Do you want to get an obnoxious Pinterest style sign for our house?” Richie asks. Sometimes Eddie regrets showing him Pinterest but he’s found it useful as he tries to figure out how he wants to redecorate and what kinds of recipes he wants to try. 

“No,” Eddie says. “They’re tacky. We’re not doing _farmhouse_.” 

“But you make my heart yeehaw,” Richie grins at him and Eddie laughs even though he has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. 

This time they strap their tubes together so they can ride down together. 

Eddie thought they’d get restless or bored, staying in the same place with their friends for over a week, that they might have had enough of each other by the end but that’s not the case. They didn’t have much time in Derry to catch up, relearn each other but now they do and it’s the best feeling in the world - the deep familiarity and love combined with the new information. Eddie loves listening to Ben’s travel stories. He’s really been all over the world and Mike seems especially intrigued by his stories about Peru.

“I’m sorry if I’m boring you guys,” Ben says. 

“How could this possibly be boring?” Eddie asks. 

“This is fascinating, Ben,” Mike says. “Please, go on.” 

Richie gets up then, heading for the kitchen. “You’re not boring me, Ben. I can listen while I roll some joints, right? You’re the one who thoughtfully provided the mary jane. And I can’t fly with it so everyone better smoke up.” 

All of his friends have interesting stories, all of them except Eddie but he tries not to let that bring him down. None of the Losers hold it against him, that he had a boring life before they reunited. A life without dreams or desires. Eddie truly operated on autopilot for years and it scares him that it could happen again. 

“You don’t want to be boring, Eds?” Richie mumbles sleepily into Eddie’s hair in bed that night. 

“I don’t want to look up one day and realize I’m not enjoying life,” Eddie says, pressing himself closer to Richie. He can’t go back to that. It would be a disservice to his new life, to Stan. 

“Don’t worry, sugar. We’ll keep things fresh,” Richie says against him. “We’ll do whatever you want. Vacations. Classes.” 

“What kind of classes?” Eddie asks, relaxing against him. 

“I don’t know. Cooking? Dance?” 

“You’d take a dance class with me?”

“I took one with Bev. It was fun.” 

“I don’t know how to dance,” Eddie admits, feeling embarrassed about it. “Maybe we should take one. Before the wedding. So I don’t embarrass myself.” 

“We can do that,” Richie says, kissing the back of Eddie’s head. “There’s no way you’ll out-embarrass me though. Do you know how hard it’s going to be not to cry through the whole thing? I’m going to have to go into it dehydrated.” 

“You can’t do that, it’s not healthy,” Eddie says. “We’ll just both cry through it.” 

“Maybe we should have Ben officiate without a shirt, then no one will be looking at us.” 

“I thought we’d ask Mike to officiate,” Eddie says. “Since he’s the one who brought us back together.” 

“Shirtless Mike would also work,” Richie says. It’s true, they saw Mike shirtless in Texas when they went to the waterpark and it was overwhelming. 

“No one will be shirtless,” Eddie says. 

“Not even the stripper?” Richie asks and Eddie rolls over to look at him. 

“What stripper?” 

“The stripper that helped you realize you were gay. I was going to invite her.” 

“You don’t even know where I went,” Eddie says, guilt making his stomach turn. “And I don’t like to think about it.”

“Sorry,” Richie says, blinking sleepily at Eddie. “It was a bad joke.” He strokes Eddie’s cheek soothingly. “Can I kiss you, Eddie my love?” Eddie leans forward and accepts his gentle apology kiss, letting his worry melt away under Richie’s soft touch.

Saying goodbye is difficult. Eddie enjoyed every moment of their snowy holiday escape. He was able to ring in the new year surrounded by those he loves most for the first time - all of them bundled up as they set off fireworks, watching everyone else do the same around the lake, the colorful display lighting up the snow. They have plans to meet up again in May for not as long but it’ll do. Until then there’s still long distance communication. He never really appreciated modern technology until he had people he wanted to keep in touch with. He likes knowing what everyone is up to. It's comforting to know Ben and Beverly are doing alright across the country, and when Mike is on the road every text or Instagram post fills Eddie with joy. 

It feels good to be home again though. He loved the view of the beach and the palm trees, the stretch of city under them as they landed in LAX. He’s seen the ocean plenty of times from a plane flying into New York City but this is different, this is his and Richie’s home. It’s a cool day but still not cold, not compared to Montana or the blizzards hitting parts of the East Coast and Midwest. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and Eddie is home with Richie, where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "I put out for Santa" shirt is real, you can google it, there's a lot of cute variations. Also the donut is from Voodoo Donuts in Portland and I wanted to link to it but it's gone from the menu?! I wrote this last month and checked it was still there and it was but now it's gone! It's a local tragedy but if you google "cock and balls Voodoo Donuts" you can see it. It was delicious.
> 
> I hope this wasn't another jarring tone shift from last chapter. They're working on things but I wanted to show it in action rather than focus on it, if that makes sense. Also I put a lot of effort into this chapter and felt a little weird writing it at times because I'm Native American and Ashkenazi/Jewish (and vegan) but I hope I created a fun holiday chapter. I didn't fit it in because Richie and Eddie wouldn't ask but Maggie came around to accepting Richie being gay because some of her friends talked her into accepting it.


	9. I do. I do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie make good on some promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for reference to book canon Richie's casual cocaine use, improper technique for introducing a cat to a new home, reference to book It laying eggs, and a lot of wedding content.

_When you feel embarrassed then I’ll be your pride_

_When you need directions then I’ll be the guide_

_For all time_

_For all time_

Passenger Seat - Death Cab For Cutie 

It’s been years since Eddie has been job hunting. He applies for a few positions, most of which he’s qualified for but unexcited about. The one job he’s truly excited about he’ll admit he has an unorthodox resume for but he felt strongly enough about it that he applied anyway and was pleasantly surprised when he landed an interview. And then a second interview.

Richie is waiting for him when he gets home and it makes Eddie laugh. As soon as he heard the gate open he must have rushed to pose with the bottle of champagne, a giant ridiculous grin glued to his face. “Well?” he asks. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Eds. Are we poppin bottles or not?” 

“You know,” Eddie says, struggling to make his face stern and failing. “It would be a real dick move to be waiting here like that if I didn’t get the job.” 

“But you did?” Richie asks and Eddie nods, unable to keep the smile off his face. “I knew you would, Eddie my love.” He starts to unwind the cage around the champagne bottle’s cork, pointing it in Eddie’s direction.

“Don’t!” Eddie shrieks, moving out of the way. “Don’t you fucking dare, Rich. Not in this suit. Not in the house!” 

“Well then start stripping and get outside,” Richie says, stopping his effort to get the cork out. 

“You’ll hit me with the cork either way. Just open it like a civilized person,” Eddie says, Richie’s playful mood adding to his own elation. “I hate when people spray it, it’s fucking wasteful.” He heads to the kitchen to grab champagne flutes. “You didn’t shake it, did you?” 

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Richie says as he follows Eddie. 

Eddie opens the champagne over the sink, mindful of the cork popping. It doesn’t escape his notice that Richie didn’t actually unwind the cage at all. The bottle only fizzes over a little, bubbling and dripping over the dark green surface. Eddie licks it off his hand. “That’s disappointing,” Richie says, leaning against the kitchen island. “I’ll have to get my explosion somewhere else. You know, you’re kind of like a champagne bottle.” 

“How so?” Eddie takes the bait. 

“Compact, tightly wound. I love to spill you in my mouth.” 

“Rich,” Eddie groans but he can’t help chuckling as he pours them two glasses. “Please don’t put that one in your routine.”

“What if I work on it? It could be better,” Richie says. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, handing Richie his glass. They cheers before drinking. Eddie loves the fizziness on his tongue, the light crisp flavor. He has a new job, a job he feels good about, can take pride in.

“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Richie asks. “Or do you want me to blow you and order delivery?” 

“You can’t blow me and take me out to dinner?” Eddie asks. 

“I can do whatever you want me to Eds,” Richie says and it makes his stomach flutter, the affection written on Richie’s face. 

“Then blow me and make tacos,” Eddie says and to his surprise Richie sets down his champagne flute and drops to his knees in front of him. “Here?” They’ve never done anything sexual in the kitchen besides make out, Eddie sitting on the counter while they waited for dinner in the oven. 

“I’m hungry,” Richie grins up at him. “This ok?” he asks, his hands hovering in front of Eddie’s crotch. 

“Yes,” Eddie leans back against the counter and sips his champagne, cocking his hips out slightly to bump against Richie’s hands. He’s already half hard as Richie unbuckles his belt. 

“Are you going to keep drinking that?” Richie asks, letting Eddie’s pants slide down his legs. “Mr. Moneybags, CFO.” 

“It’s for a nonprofit, the pay isn’t important,” Eddie says and takes another sip, his heart hammering with anticipation. “I don’t want my champagne to get warm.” 

“Beverly Hills is turning you into a hedonist,” Richie says, running his hands down Eddie’s silky boxer briefs before pulling them down too, Eddie’s cock springing out, bobbing in front of Richie’s face. Eddie can feel his hot breath before Richie takes him in his mouth, all intoxicating wetness and pressure. 

“That’s good,” Eddie sighs, already regretting holding onto his champagne. Richie looks up at him, pulling off to lick the underside of his cock, his tongue flat. “Rich,” Eddie breaths, gripping the counter with his free hand when Richie takes him back into his mouth. It’s amazing, it always is but it never gets old. Richie is really good at sucking cock.

“What’s the matter, love?” Richie asks, his lips wet with saliva. Eddie’s cock throbs. “Not thirsty anymore?” There’s a playful smile on his lips when he resumes, sucking Eddie deliberately slow. Eddie raises the glass to his lips, surprised by how steady his hand is. As soon as he starts sipping his champagne Richie sinks down on him, taking all of Eddie’s cock in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, spilling some of his drink down one of his nice work shirts and ties but he doesn’t care. Eddie doesn’t know how he does that. Richie’s hands reach around Eddie to cup his ass and squeeze, pulling Eddie forwards when Richie pulls away slightly. Coaxing Eddie into moving. “You want me to fuck your trashmouth?” Eddie asks, setting his drink down on the counter carefully so it doesn’t tip over. Richie nods against him, lips wrapped around Eddie’s cock, looking at Eddie over the top of his glasses. He must be blurry to Richie but Eddie loves looking into his eyes when they’re fucking. “Ok, baby. If you want me to use your mouth I’ll use your fucking mouth.” He rocks against Richie’s face, the heat and pressure making him breathe hard. It’s difficult to set a rhythm like this, mindful of not making Richie gag and choke on his cock but they figure it out. “That’s it,” Eddie sighs, thrusting into Richie’s open mouth, both hands gripping the counter. “Your mouth is so good, Rich. You like that? You like me putting your trashmouth to use?” Richie squeezes his ass, kneads it, pulling Eddie into his mouth faster. He’s drooling all over his chin and it would be gross but Eddie is too into it. “You want me to come in your trashmouth?” Richie squeezes again and Eddie’s hips snap faster against him. Richie gags for a second and Eddie eases up but then Richie is grabbing his ass, urging him faster again. “I’m close,” Eddie pants, his thrusts turning shallower so he doesn’t come straight down Richie’s throat. He lets go with a grunt, spilling himself over Richie’s hot tongue. He comes so hard his vision goes spotty for a moment. “Fuck,” he laughs. He feels short of breath, legs only keeping him up because he’s leaning so hard against the counter. “That was amazing, Rich. Are you ok?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says once he’s swallowed and wiped his chin on the back of his hand. He leans back and massages his jaw. “Drink?” 

Eddie hands him his champagne, watching as Richie chases the taste from his mouth, mesmerized by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Eddie helps him up, kissing him deeply when he’s standing. “Do you want to fuck me?” he asks, already loosening his tie. 

“Yes. With you on top. My knees hurt,” Richie says and Eddie sheds his clothes on the floor all the way to the bedroom. 

The new job is different from anything he’s done before. It still involves a mix of mathematics and customer service skills but this time he feels like he’s really doing something, making a difference in the world. Instead of helping corporations make money Eddie is managing the money of a nonprofit that gives out grants to LGBTQ causes. The work culture is completely different from what he’s used to and the fact that he doesn’t have to deliberate over using pronouns when he talks about his fiancé feels amazing. He still hasn’t told anyone at work who exactly he’s engaged to but he will eventually. They’ll find out in the summer anyway when he changes his last name to Tozier. 

The night they got back from Montana they laid in bed talking about dates and the next morning Eddie started making phone calls, a list of promising locations open on his laptop. They have until September fourth to figure everything out because on that date they’re getting married at the Terranea Resort in Palos Verdes, California overlooking the ocean and the next day they’re leaving on their honeymoon to Mexico. It took longer to find a honeymoon destination but Eddie combed through the results for ‘LGBTQ friendly resort Mexico’ until he found one that was perfect.

Unlike his first wedding Eddie is very involved with planning this one. The level of involvement Richie has is surprising but Eddie is thrilled that they get to share this experience together. Richie has especially strong opinions about the DJ and the playlist - Let’s Stay Together by Al Green is currently Richie’s pick for first dance and Eddie loves it. Looking at everything they need to accomplish before September didn’t seem that overwhelming but Beverly still talked Eddie into hiring a wedding planner and he’s grateful for her because she makes everything easier on them. 

It’s going so smoothly wedding planning doesn’t come up much in their joint therapy sessions. 

“How do you feel about Rich going on tour?” Delores asks, her head cocked to the side thoughtfully, her short, curly hair resting on her shoulder. After their first session with her Richie said she might have an inner ear problem but she should be able to afford to get it treated after the amount of therapy they need. 

“I feel happy for you,” Eddie says to Richie, his hand warm and reassuring in Eddie’s, the two of them seated on the love seat in Delores’s office. The room smells like sandalwood and patchouli and has a truly staggering amount of plants but Eddie finds it relaxing. “I’m going to miss you so much though. And I’m scared you’re going to doubt me.” 

“Rich?” 

Richie takes a moment, his eyes lingering on their hands before going to Eddie’s face. “I trust you, Eds. I know you’re not going to cheat on me. I’m scared when I’m gone you’ll realize you don’t want me though. That you’re better off without me around. And I’m scared I’m going to bomb or get heckled off stage for being openly gay but um. I’m working on those things with my therapist.” 

“Rich,” Eddie squeezes his hand. “I’m not going to change my mind when you’re gone. I love you, sweetheart. I’m going to be so fucking happy when you get home.” 

“Let’s talk about what each of you need,” Delores says. “And we’ll figure out how best to get those needs met.”

It’s hard to say goodbye. Eddie is almost late for work because he spent extra time in bed with Richie, holding and kissing him, repeating the reassuring things they need to hear. Eddie has lived alone before but he was in a terrible place, mentally. He was grieving his mother and then he met Myra and they dated while Eddie went home feeling like a hollowed out boomerang about to finish it’s stretch forward and head back to the starting place. He’s no stranger to having the lights off when he gets home, the bed empty, the silence, the meals for one. He’s not looking forward to going home. 

“Everything alright, Ed?” his coworker Terri asks as they’re sitting around the table in the meeting room that doubles as a lunch space. The first day on the job Eddie knew he couldn’t let himself eat in his office here. He’s glad he pushed himself out the door to join everyone.

“My fiancé is leaving for tour today,” Eddie says, picking listlessly at his salad. 

“Is he military?” Jean asks sympathetically. 

“Ah, no,” Eddie says, not realizing his mistake. Oh well, it’s not like he’s embarrassed about it, in fact he’s extremely proud of Richie but people might treat him differently and he doesn’t know where his new coworkers come down on Richie being able to redeem himself to their community. “He’s a comedian.” 

“Oh,” Terri looks surprised. “Anyone we’ve heard of?” 

“Richie Tozier,” Eddie answers. 

They take it well. They express their sympathy that Eddie will be alone for the next month as Richie makes his comeback tour, driving around the country on a tour bus with his face and a rainbow flag with the words ‘I knew there was something I forgot to mention’ on the side - honestly too long for a tour name but Eddie likes the premise. He went to Richie’s LA show that kicked off the tour and it was amazing, funny and touching and Eddie had never felt so proud of anything watching Richie take the stage and show the world his real self. 

“How did you meet?” Estaban asks and Eddie pulls out his phone to show them the scanned photos he has sitting in his email, photos spanning from elementary school to high school which they intend to display at their wedding.

The empty house makes him sad but Richie is only a phone call away. They talk about their days while Eddie reheats the chicken stir fry in the fridge. Richie rambles about traffic and bad drivers and how motion sick he gets on the bus. “Steve gave me these ginger candy things and that helped,” he says. “Do you want to talk to Steve?” 

“I don’t need to talk to Steve,” Eddie says. “Do you feel like you’re going to relapse?” 

“No,” Richie says. “I’m fine. I just really fucking miss you, Eds. Already and I’m only eight hours away.”

Eddie was surprised when Richie sat him down to tell him he used to have a problem with cocaine, when his career was just taking off. “Not rehab bad,” Richie said. “We weren’t that good of friends. Just casual acquaintances who might have become more if Steve hadn’t cockblocked me for my own good. I haven’t done it in years, but I wanted you to know, Eds.” The tight smile he gave Eddie after confiding in him turned to one of relief when Eddie kissed him and told him how strong he was for kicking such a dangerous habit. It put new context to Steve asking if Richie needed anything after his show. The temptation was always strongest after his set, Richie told him. It makes Eddie fiercely appreciative of Steve in a way he didn’t think he could feel.

“I miss you too,” Eddie says. 

“I can’t believe they insisted on the flag on the bus,” Richie says. “If my giant head gets hate crimed when we leave the West Coast I’m suing the producers.” 

“Are you talking about the giant head on the bus or the one on your body?” Eddie teases him. 

“Very funny, love. Maybe you should be the comedian.” 

“It’ll be ok, Rich. You have security and if anyone defaces the bus it can be cleaned.” 

“The only acceptable graffiti would be if someone drew a dick on it. Maybe I should do it before someone else has the chance. Is it illegal to graffiti your own tour bus?” 

“You don’t own it,” Eddie says.

“Party pooper.” 

“I didn’t say not to do it.” 

Richie laughs. “If I do it and get arrested and the tour has to be cancelled will you come pick me up?”

“Of course,” Eddie says. 

“Unfortunately I don’t know anything about making a shiv,” Richie says. “So I can’t go to jail.” 

“There goes your future criminal career.” 

“I still have DJ and trucker in my pocket. Maybe I’ll be one of those by the time I come home. Will you still love me if you have to get rid of your car to make room for my semi on the blacktop?”

“I’ll love you no matter what you do, Rich. No matter what. I’m so fucking proud of you. People are going to love the show, sweetheart.” 

“Someone came up to me when we stopped for lunch and told me they didn’t believe I was gay until they heard a recent interview and I sounded gay. Is that true? Do I sound gayer now?” 

That takes Eddie by surprise. People are so rude, he wishes he had been there to tell that person to fuck off and leave Richie alone. “I think stereotypes are stupid. There is no ‘gay voice.’ Plenty of straight men have a more effeminate voice and plenty of gay and bisexual men have deep voices. But I do think living in a culture of toxic masculinity can make us put on a more masculine affectation to protect ourselves,” Eddie says, the emptiness of the dining room crushing him. He wishes Richie was here with him, he wants to touch him, to reassure him it’s alright. 

“So that’s a yes?” he asks.

“I haven’t noticed. I talk to you every day, you always just sound like Richie. But I know it’s true about me. I noticed when I was setting up my work voicemail.” 

“I can’t tell,” Richie says. “You sound like my normal little spitfire from Queens.” 

“Why don’t we look at it as a positive thing? We’re finally comfortable enough in our skin we don’t have to pretend.” 

“You’re way better at the bright side stuff than I am, Eds. I’m going to be self-conscious as fuck on stage tomorrow night,” Richie says and Eddie can hear how tense his shoulders are from his voice. He wishes he could massage the tension out. 

“Can’t you joke about it? It would fit your routine.” 

“Yeah, that would be a good ice breaker actually.” Eddie can hear some of the tension leaving him. “You might technically be owed a writing credit for this show.”

“You wrote it yourself,” Eddie reminds him. “My suggestions didn’t make it what it is. And what it is, is fucking awesome, Rich. Really.” 

“It is pretty good,” Richie says and it’s the nicest, sincere thing he’s said about his own work. “I just have to not fuck it up.” 

“You won’t,” Eddie says. “You’ve got this. You fucking killed it in LA, you’re going to kill it everywhere. I believe in you.” 

“Thanks, love. I wish you were here,” Richie sighs. “This is going to suck without you.” 

“Rich…” 

“Ok. It’s going to be fine. I’ll be fine without you,” he says. “We’re not codependent. I’m going to have a good time. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to meet Steve in the lobby.” 

“Go meet Steve,” Eddie says. “And have fun.” 

“If you insist. I love you, spaghetti man.” 

“I love you too Rich,” Eddie says and then it’s quiet. He fills the silence with music as he prepares lunch for tomorrow - chicken orzo salad. When he goes to bed he sleeps on his back for the first time in months.

The first weekend is the hardest. He takes his tennis lesson in the morning but it’s too quiet at home after, no Richie to slip into the shower with him. He has lunch with David, which is fun but he wishes Richie was there. “He likes you more than me and he just met you,” Richie said when Eddie met Steve’s husband. It’s true, they hit it off right away - David is relaxed and witty and he owns an interior decorating business so he and Eddie have things to discuss, in addition to being tour widows, as David put it. 

“At least this time the material is worth it,” David tells him over lunch. “Losing my husband for months at a time for hack material should be considered a hate crime.” 

Saturday night he meets some coworkers for a painting and wine night and doesn’t hate what he created. He decides not to send a picture to Richie so he has something to share with him when he gets home. He considers going to a late movie after but decides not to. He can’t avoid their empty home the entire time Richie is away. He should make peace with it. Make peace with being on his own. 

On Sunday he meditates in the morning, does yoga and misses the commentary Richie makes about how his ass looks in various positions. Then he reads one of the books his therapist recommended, stretched out on the couch, wearing one of Richie’s shirts.

When the workweek finally comes he almost finds himself staying late at work like he did when he was married to Myra. That’s another pattern he refuses to repeat. He loves his home. He loves the piece of the kissing bridge on the shelf in the living room and all the pictures of their friends on the walls, he loves the feeling of relaxation, of peace, he feels when he walks through the door. Richie will come home and they’ll keep building their life together and in the meantime Eddie will appreciate what he has. 

When he goes home that night he turns on YouTube and follows a dance tutorial, determined not to feel embarrassed and to get some practice before he and Richie take their dance class together. It feels good, he’s not used to moving his body in this way and without eyes on him he’s not as bothered by how ridiculous he must look; not that Richie would be mean about it, he would probably join in. Richie would touch him, put his hands on Eddie’s hips and whisper things in his ear, his breath hot on Eddie’s skin, his stubble scratching Eddie’s cheek. 

“Are you alone?” he asks when he has Richie on the phone. 

“Yeah, I just got back to my room,” Richie says. 

Eddie doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants, how direct he should be. It’s easy when they’re together. Eddie would kiss him, touch him softly and ask if Richie wanted to have sex and they would be on the same page. Maybe he should have done a video call, at least then he could see Richie’s expression. 

“Is this the part where I ask what you’re wearing?” Richie asks, his voice low. 

“Yes,” Eddie says. “I’m wearing my silk boxers and your orange shirt with the palm trees.” 

“You wore that to work?” Richie asks and Eddie can hear the sound of movement in the background, what might be the sound of Richie kicking off his pants.

“No, I put it on when I got home. When I started thinking about you touching me.” 

“I’m listening,” Richie says. “How do you want me to touch you, sugar?” 

It’s not awkward, not at all. Being intimate with Richie has unlocked the vocal part of his brain when they’re having sex and he never intended it to be so useful but he’s glad it is. 

“I miss you,” Eddie says when they’re both done. The bed feels so empty without Richie. He wants to cuddle with him in the afterglow of orgasming. 

“I miss you too, love,” Richie says.

He wraps himself around a body pillow and gets the best night of sleep he’s had so far without Richie. 

“What do you think about adopting a cat?” Eddie asks on a Thursday night, the page for a local shelter already open on his laptop. 

“We can get a cat,” Richie says. It’s hard to hear him over the sound of the tour bus on the road. “I thought you wanted a dog though.” 

“We can have both,” Eddie says. “But we should wait until you’re home regularly. I don’t want to get a dog and then leave it home alone most of the day.” 

“Wait, you want to get a cat now?” 

“Yeah, is that not ok?” Eddie asks, slowing his scrolling. They’re all cute. Eddie doesn’t know the first thing about choosing a pet but it feels a little weird to be scrolling through a bunch of animals in need of a home. How is he supposed to choose which one is most worthy of his home from just a picture? They all deserve a loving home. “Should I wait?” 

“No, you can go pick up a pussy now if you want,” Richie says. 

“Rich, I need you to be serious for a minute, please,” Eddie invokes the phrase they agreed on in therapy. “I can wait if you want me to.” 

“Do it, Eds. Seriously. Go get us a furry little son or daughter and send me pictures.” 

“Ok, I will this weekend,” Eddie says, his excitement back. “What if they get lonely? Should I get two?” 

“Maybe we should start with one. Neither of us has had a cat before.” 

Friday night he gets off work and goes to a pet store, buying everything he’ll need for their first cat. He feels stupid considering what color of collar and water bowl to buy - it’s a cat, it doesn’t care about gendered color coding, which is stupid and unnecessary for humans anyway. He buys a neutral color bowl to match the kitchen and an orange collar for better visibility, in case their cat gets out of the house; there’s no way they’re having an outdoor cat, he’s heard the coyotes howling at night. Saturday morning he sits in the parking lot waiting for the shelter to open. 

“Her name is Lucille,” he tells Richie when he gets home, watching their new cat cautiously peek out from under a chair. “She was a stray but they think she’s three.” 

“I can’t believe we have a three-year-old already. And we’re not even married. Are you going to be dad or daddy?”

“I’m not calling you daddy,” Eddie says.

“I bet I could get you to call me daddy, if I really tried,” Richie says. 

“I’m sure you could,” Eddie agrees. Richie has already brought him to a place where in the throws of passion he very well could have said ‘call me daddy’ and Eddie would have done it. Richie doesn’t need to know that and Eddie doesn’t need to think about it right now, not when they’re so far away from each other. 

“Tell me more about our daughter, before I whip it out on the tour bus.”

“She seems curious but nervous. When I met her in the contact room she was affectionate. They said she might have a cold so I already made her a vet appointment.” 

“I’m going to miss her first doctor’s visit?” Richie asks and Eddie thinks he detects a hint of real sadness in his voice. “Add it to the scrapbook so I don’t feel like I missed out.” 

“I will,” Eddie says. “How are you feeling, Rich?” 

It takes him a moment to respond but Eddie knows he’s there by the road noise in the background. “Like I want to be home and this is my last tour,” he says. It’s not surprising. “I talked about it with Steve. Flying out for a few shows is fine but the tour bus days are over. Not just because I miss you. Being on a tour bus fucking sucks, Eds. I’m too old for this shit. I miss our bed and I miss cooking. I miss taking my pants off whenever I want.” 

“This is the last time then. You never have to do it again,” Eddie says. “Any positives?”

“The shows aren’t disasters,” Richie says. That’s an understatement. The reviews are glowing, people seem to universally love Richie’s original material, Eddie would know, he’s read every review. “Some of them have been good. It feels good to be doing my own shit even though it fucking sucks when people hate it now because it’s really my words. My opener is fun. She’s really going places. She brought her girlfriend though and seeing them all lovey makes me miss you more. Sorry, positives,” he sighs and takes a moment. “I have someone to come home to when it’s over.” 

“That’s good,” Eddie says, watching Lucille walk into the small sunroom. Maybe Eddie will join her for a nap in there later. “Can you try something for me? Can you try to have fun? In between shows. Since it’s your last tour, you should enjoy it.” 

“Jeez, Eddie, why didn’t I think of that?” 

“You don’t need to be sarcastic,” Eddie says, immediately on edge from Richie’s tone. “Are you feeling depressed, Rich? Or are you moping?” 

“I’m moping,” Richie says. “But I’m very good at it, I don’t know why you want me to stop. It’s like a hobby. You want me to have hobbies, don’t you?” 

“Rich,” Eddie sighs. He doesn’t like where this is going. “Please.” 

“You signed up for this, sugar. Are you having second thoughts?” 

“Don’t,” Eddie says, his voice wavering involuntarily. “Don’t call me that unless you mean it.” Richie never does that, never makes Eddie feel like his terms of endearment are anything else but the tone of his voice isn’t laced with affection. Eddie’s breath feels tight in his chest. “No, no, I’m not having second thoughts,” Eddie says, trying to keep his temper in check. He takes a deep breath. “I’m just trying to help, sweetheart. I don’t want you to be miserable. I want you to enjoy yourself.” 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Richie asks. 

“I’m trying to. That’s something.” 

“You think I’m not trying?” 

“That’s not...I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t trying,” Eddie says. He feels like an asshole, he shouldn’t have said that.

“I could be trying harder,” Richie says after a moment of road noise, Eddie trying not to hold his breath. “Fun options are limited on a fucking bus though. I’ll download an audiobook or something. Will that make you feel better?” 

“You should do shit for yourself, not me,” Eddie snaps. “Jesus, Richie. I don’t want to fight with you. What do you want from me?” 

“I don’t want to be the only one who feels like a part of me is missing,” Richie says, his voice low and rough. “I want you to miss me.” 

“You’re not the only one who feels like that, Rich,” Eddie says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I wish you were home. All the fucking time. I’m the one here, in your house without you.”

“It’s your house too,” Richie says, barely audible above the road noise. “Officially, when we get the paperwork done.” 

“I miss you. I love you,” Eddie says, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes. “I just...I don’t want to be miserable, Rich. I don’t want either of us to be miserable.” 

“Why, when we could both be miserable?” Richie asks. “I’m joking,” he adds quickly. “I’m not that much of an asshole. Well, I guess I am. Because I want you to feel how I do. Misery loves company and all that bullshit.” 

“It’s ok to want to know I value and love you, honey,” Eddie says, wishing more than anything that he could wrap his arms around Richie right now.

“That,” Richie says, his voice sounding small. “That’s what I wanted. Why the fuck can’t I vocalize my feelings like that?” 

“It takes practice,” Eddie says. “And self-reflection.” 

“So there’s no hope for me,” Richie says. 

“That’s not true, Rich. Your new material is full of self-reflection. You’re getting better at it. Wishing misery on both of us isn’t the healthiest thing in the world though.” 

“Yeah,” Richie sighs. “I’m sorry, future Mr. Edward Tozier. If that’s still -” 

“Yes, Rich,” he interrupts. “That’s still what I want. Even when you’re wishing suffering on me.” 

“Wow, when you put it like that I sound like a sociopath.”

“You’re not a sociopath,” Eddie says. “If you were you wouldn’t care.” 

“I’m sorry, Eds,” Richie says. “I want you to be happy, I really do.” 

“I want you to be happy too, Rich,” Eddie says, anxiety making his chest feel tight. “But I can’t be responsible for your happiness.” 

“I know,” Richie says, the road noise stretching out between them. “I won’t put that on you. I’m being a dramatic little bitch.” 

“You’re not,” Eddie says. “You have emotional needs and that’s ok. We all do.” 

“Being a person is embarrassing and exhausting,” Richie says and Eddie has to agree. “It’s not all bad,” Richie says, his voice sounding more sure. “I’ve been having fun. Sometimes. Just not as much as I’d be having at home. I’m being greedy.” 

“I don’t think it’s greedy,” Eddie says. “We went so long without each other. It’s alright to want to make up for it. We’ll keep making up for it when you get back. It’s not even _that_ long.”

“We’re both being dramatic bitches then,” Richie jokes. “I...I’ve been having dreams, Eds. Bad dreams.” Eddie encourages him to go on. “You’re dead and everything we have has been a dream, kind of dreams.” 

“I’m sorry, Rich,” Eddie says, his throat feeling tight. He wishes he was there to comfort Richie upon waking. “You can call me when you wake up, if it will help. Even if I’m at work. No one will mind.” 

“Flexing your CFO powers, I see,” Richie says. 

“It’s a casual office, Rich. You’ll see when you meet them at the wedding.” 

“I can’t wait, Eds. Everyone on the bus is already sick of hearing about my fiancé, I can’t wait for people to be bored of me talking about my husband instead.”

Eddie’s heart leaps into his throat when Richie says ‘husband,’ like it always does. “Me too,” he agrees. “The save-the-date cards are going out this week.” The segue into wedding talk feels a little strange considering their earlier thread of conversation but Richie seems to brighten when they talk about it. 

“I should go,” Richie says eventually. “Can you do me a favor?” he asks and Eddie makes a noise of assent. “Can you send me some cute Lucille videos?” 

“I can do that.” 

“Thanks, Eds. You’re the best. Really.” 

They say their goodbyes and the crushing silence comes back. Silence never used to feel like this. 

Lucille is sleeping on one of the chairs in the sunroom, curled on the light green cushion. Everything is going to get coated in her black fur but Eddie doesn’t care. The thought of Richie wanting Eddie to be miserable without him stings but he gets where Richie is coming from, how his insecurity led him to that desire. At least he expressed it instead of letting it fester like last time. He pulls his phone back out and takes a video and some pictures to send to Richie and the group chat. 

“Your dads are a mess sometimes,” he tells her and she cracks open a green eye to look at him. She purrs when he pets her, turning her head to fit against his palm. It feels nice. “But we love each other and we try. I think that’s all we can do sometimes.”

That night Lucille slips through the cracked bedroom door and joins him in bed, curling up on the foot of the bed on Richie’s side. He’d prefer if she cuddled him but for now it just feels good to not be alone.

Bill comes over for dinner Sunday night. Having another person in the house is a relief after so much quiet. 

“I can’t wait,” Bill says when Eddie asks about his trip to New Mexico to join Mike. “Skin-walker stories are so cool. Mike has a bunch of first hand encounter interviews lined up.” He looks unreasonably happy about it, for how scary it seems.

“That sounds...fun?” Eddie tries. All the links Mike excitedly sent to the group chat sounded more terrifying than ‘fun’ but he knows Mike and Bill feel differently about these things. “I’ll listen to the episode. Assuming you guys don’t get eaten.” 

“We’ll be fine, Eddie. It’s going to be safe. And fun,” Bill grins excitedly at him. “And romantic,” he adds. Eddie thinks he’s being serious. 

“We have very different ideas of romance but I’m happy for you.”

Talking about Bill’s visit makes him jealous. He doesn’t regret adopting Lucille, they’ve already started to bond, but if he hadn’t maybe he could have surprised Richie for a weekend. The hug goodbye from Bill is the first physical contact he’s had since Richie left; it’s not the same as a hug with Richie but it feels good. He never considered himself a physically affectionate person before. 

At least Lucille likes being pet and brushed. Being responsible for another being’s health and wellbeing is only intimidating for the first few days. Adopting such a relaxed cat helps; relaxed until 5:00 AM, when she likes to run around the house for no discernible reason. Still, Eddie enjoys having a cat. She always comes to the door to greet him when he comes home, is always willing to sit on his lap if he puts her favorite throw blanket over himself, and now she touches him while they sleep. She can’t respond when he talks to her but it doesn’t stop him from talking to her about his day, about Richie, about wedding decisions, baseball or whatever he’s watching on TV. She’s an attentive listener usually, blinking at him and watching his hands move. 

When Richie video calls him from Beverly’s condo in Chicago a couple weeks later he seems genuinely happy. It makes Eddie ache with envy. He wants to be there with them, he wants to kiss Richie and feel Richie’s arms around him and never let him go. When they hang up Eddie puts Lucille’s throw blanket on his lap so she’ll come sit on him while he reads. Her purring makes him feel better, the soft feel of her fur under his hand. “I’m alright,” he tells her. “It’s not much longer.” 

Richie ends his tour in New York City with three shows, the middle of which will be filmed. ‘ _It was hilarious!’_ Ben texts after the show he attended, the first in the lineup. Eddie is glad Ben had fun but he just wants the last show to end so Richie can fly home. He’s so excited for Richie to be home he took the day off work so he can pick Richie up at the airport and they can spend the rest of the day together. “You’re the only person in the world I would take a 5:00 AM flight for, Eds,” Richie said when he booked his flight home. 

Forget ‘one more sleep ‘til Christmas,’ one more sleep until Richie is home is far more exciting. The house is clean, there’s filet mignon in the fridge waiting for Eddie to show Richie how good at searing he’s gotten, there’s a cake from a trendy bakery in the fridge with a photo of Richie’s tour bus printed on it, and there are vases of fresh flowers scattered around the house. Eddie doesn’t know what else to do but try to fall asleep. Soon, soon he’ll meet Richie at the airport and he won’t care if they draw attention because there’s no way Eddie is waiting for privacy to finally feel his lips again. With that thought in his mind, he finally falls asleep.

“Honey, I’m home.” 

Eddie startles awake at the soft touch on his shoulder, the soft breath on his cheek. “What the fuck?” he mumbles sleepily, blinking in the darkness of their bedroom. “Rich?”

“Hey, Eds,” Richie whispers. He’s lying next to Eddie in bed, still fully dressed. Eddie didn’t even feel him get in bed. His heartbeat picks up. Richie is really here, really home, really in bed with him. He closes the small gap between them to kiss him. It’s been so long it feels electric, the soft press of Richie’s lips, the rough stubble on his face. Eddie reaches up to cup his cheek, runs his hand through Richie’s hair, it’s been a month since he’s touched it, it feels longer. It makes him sad for some reason, sad that he didn’t get to watch it change. 

“Welcome home” Eddie says against his lips. “What time is it?” he asks, cutting off Richie’s response with another lingering kiss. 

“Almost 1:30,” Richie says when he pulls away.

Eddie yawns, reaching for the button on Richie’s shirt. He can feel warmth radiating off of him. He missed that. He missed all of him. “Take your clothes off and get in bed.” 

“Let me take a quick shower,” Richie says, leaning in for another kiss. “I missed you so fucking much.” 

“I missed you too,” Eddie says, unwilling to let him go. “You’re really home. What the fuck?” 

“I’m really home,” Richie says like he needs to remind himself. “I couldn’t wait any more.” He punctuates the sentiment with another kiss, his hand caressing Eddie’s bare shoulder and arm. “I rushed to the airport after the show. I wasn’t sure if I’d make it.” Eddie pulls him in for another kiss. “Give me ten minutes to get the show and plane sweat off me and then I’m never letting you go.” 

“Ok,” Eddie agrees. He can wait ten minutes. Lucille comes back to bed in that time, lying curled up next to Eddie’s feet. The sound of the shower almost lulls him back to sleep. Richie is home. Lucille doesn’t scare away when Richie comes back to bed, his hair still damp and his breath minty. “You’re home,” Eddie says. He can’t quite believe it. He’s never been so happy to have plans changed. 

“I’m home,” Richie agrees, facing Eddie in bed. Eddie moves his pillow lower, settling against Richie with his face pressed against Richie’s chest, Richie’s chin resting on top of his head, each throwing an arm over the other and holding tight until sleep takes them. 

Richie is still sleeping when Eddie wakes, his face still pressed against Richie’s warm skin. It feels less surreal in the light of the morning, when he carefully extricates himself from their tangle of limbs without waking Richie. His face is relaxed, his breathing deep and even, just as peaceful and beautiful as always.

He planned on making it tomorrow but since Richie is home for breakfast today he makes eggs benedict - as best as he can. One of the poached eggs breaks and his sauce application is a little sloppy but he’s sure Richie won’t notice. He sets the plates on the dining room table, along with the bowl of cut fruit, and can’t help feeling overwhelmed for a moment as he adjusts the placement of the silverware so they’re even. Usually they sit across from each other but right now he wants to sit next to Richie, to feel Richie’s solid warmth pressed against his side. It’s been a little over a month since he’s set out breakfast for two. 

“Rich?” Eddie says softy, his knees touching the bed. Richie is still sleeping. It’s afternoon in the timezone he just came from but Eddie understands his exhaustion. Still, he should start adjusting back to Pacific time. “Hey, I made breakfast.” It would be so easy to get back in bed and do nothing today but touch Richie. 

“Mm?” Richie’s eyes open slowly, focusing sleepily on Eddie. The room is still dark, Eddie left the curtains closed, light leaking in around the edges of the dark green fabric. When Richie reaches his hand out to Eddie he doesn’t need to be coaxed to get back in bed and fall into his embrace, only cringing at Richie’s morning breath a little bit. “It feels so fucking good to be home. I haven’t slept like this since I left,” he says, running a hand through Eddie’s hair. “I’m sorry I was Dick Tozier on tour. I know how you feel about being codependent.” 

“It got better at the end,” Eddie says. For Richie. The closer to the end of the tour the more Eddie felt the loss of him. It almost felt like losing a limb. 

“I don’t want to smother you,” Richie says and Eddie’s heart skips a beat. “You can tell me if I’m being too much.” 

“You’re never too much, Rich.” He leans in to kiss him gently. “I never feel smothered by you, sweetheart. But I’d tell you if I did.” 

Breakfast is cold by the time they get to it, but Richie still loves it. “Lucy, I’m home,” Richie says when Lucille jumps on the table to look at them. Eddie gently places her back on the floor. No kitty litter paws on the table, no matter how sweet the cat attached to the paws is. “She’s cute,” Richie says around a mouthful of pineapple. “Do you think she likes me?”

“She will when she gets comfortable with you.” 

“How can you tell?” Richie asks. Eddie wondered the same thing when he brought her home. 

“She sits on my lap and purrs,” he says, listing things off on his fingers. “When I’m doing dishes or cooking she rubs against my legs. She follows me when I’m doing things around the house. She greets me when I get home. Also blinking. I read when cats blink slowly at you it’s a sign of trust.”

“I do all of those things,” Richie says. 

“You’ve never sat on my lap and purred,” Eddie laughs. 

“That’s right,” Richie grins at him, hand squeezing Eddie’s thigh. “It’s you who does that. I guess now I have two cats.” 

They don’t spend much time on the couch after breakfast, Lucille sitting on her blanket on Richie’s lap. Their bonding time is cut short when Richie turns his head to kiss Eddie. He can taste the sweetness from the fruit on his tongue. “Bed?” Eddie asks and Richie tries to stand, forgetting the startled cat on his lap. Lucille jumps out of the way, watching as they head to their bedroom and shut the door. 

“Fuck, I missed this,” Richie sighs, Eddie between his legs. 

“You missed my cock?” Eddie asks, easing himself further into Richie’s heat. It’s been so long Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to last long, heat and pressure enveloping him. 

“I missed all of you.” Richie reaches up and cups Eddie’s face, bringing him in for a kiss, their tongues sliding together lazily as Eddie fucks him. 

Eddie thought he figured out relaxation since he moved in with Richie but he was wrong. This is relaxation; lying in bed in their underwear, feeling perfectly content as they touch, talking about the tour and Eddie’s redecorating efforts and the wedding, Lucille curled up napping next to them, music playing softly on the speaker Eddie added to their bedroom. 

“Less than six months,” Richie says. He kisses Eddie slow and sweet. “Are you ready, Eds?” 

“So fucking ready,” Eddie sighs against his lips, pulls him in for a deeper kiss. “Are you ready?” 

“So fucking ready,” Richie grins. “The readiest.” 

Their first dance lesson is rough. Eddie keeps having to wipe his sweaty palms off on his pants. His face feels hot with embarrassment. 

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” José says. Eddie is glad he booked them private lessons, not just because Richie’s popularity is exploding after his recent special. At least he’s only humiliating himself in front of two people instead of a class. Hopefully by the time their lessons are done he won’t embarrass himself in front of everyone at the wedding, including the videographer Richie hired to capture the moment forever. “Let’s shake out again,” the instructor says. “Try to loosen up.” 

“Turn off that big brain of yours,” Richie whispers when they get in position to begin again. “You’re thinking too much, love.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, you weren’t born with two left feet,” Eddie says. He hasn’t loosened up any, he still feels stiff and awkward. _Lower your shoulders_ , he tells himself. It takes effort but he does it. Relax. He can relax. 

“Neither were you,” Richie smiles easily as they begin to move. Eddie follows his lead, consciously not staring at their feet as they move. “No one is born knowing how to do shit. Except for shit.” He laughs at his own joke and Eddie can’t help but smile at the way his head snaps back, his laugh lines deepening. He looks so carefree and handsome it distracts Eddie. _I’m going to marry him_ , he thinks with a sense of awe. “You have to practice.” 

“Says the man who got mad because he couldn’t fold dumplings right.” 

“It was taking too long. I was hungry,” Richie says. “Why does it matter how they look as long as they taste good?”

“Because yours were falling apart. They weren’t dumplings, they were…”

“Dumps?” Richie offers. Eddie wrinkles his nose in response. “Do you want to get dim sum on the way home?” 

“If I earn it,” Eddie says, not tripping or turning his head to look where he’s going this time when Richie walks him backwards.

“That’s not fair, Eds. To either of us. You shouldn’t have to earn dumplings, dumplings should be unconditional.” 

Eddie swallows. Richie has never made him feel like he needs to earn his love, that it will be taken away if Eddie doesn’t do exactly what he wants. It’s hard to wrap his head around sometimes. “We can get dim sum,” Eddie says. 

“Much better,” José says. “If talking helps you move more naturally keep it up.” 

“It’s a shame we didn’t try dim sum when you were in your ravenous try everything phase,” Richie says. “Would you have tried chicken feet?” 

Eddie has to think about it. “Maybe,” he says. “If you and Mike did it I probably would have. Have you had it?” 

“No way. I prefer my meat unrecognizable. I don’t want to think about it stepping on shit.”

Eddie agrees with him. Trying new things is still exciting but he has his limits. 

“Can I dip you?” Richie asks. The song is coming to an end. It feels like the time flew by. 

Eddie stiffens. “If you fucking drop me.”

“I’m not going to drop you, trust me,” Richie says. 

“Fine. Dip me.” 

“Don’t look so happy about it, Eddie my love.” He doesn’t drop Eddie. It sends an unexpected thrill through him, how easily Richie can do this. The kiss Eddie gives him derails the dance but José claps and whistles and Eddie feels more relaxed after. 

It surprises him how calm he is as the wedding approaches. There was drama around his first wedding - drama around the guest list, the seating chart, the appropriateness of guest’s dates. There’s no drama around this wedding. The guest list is relatively small, the Losers Club, Eddie’s coworkers, his tennis doubles partner Janice, Steve and David, industry acquaintances of Richie’s, Maggie, and Patty Uris. It surprised all of them when she called Beverly to confirm everything Stan told her and it surprised them further that she wants to meet them. 

“So, which ones are you feeling?” Beverly asks, sipping on her coffee, the vast array of swatches arranged neatly on their dining room table. “They don’t need to match,” she reminds them because Eddie keeps asking. “It would be better if they were unique, so you don’t look like groomsmen.” 

It’s a testament to Beverly’s professionalism that she doesn’t lose her patience with how long it takes them to decide. Richie chooses a navy swatch paired with soft pink as an accent and Eddie chooses a dark purple. “The color of royalty,” Beverly winks at him. “It suits you.” 

“My queen,” Richie grins at him. 

“And don’t you forget it,” Eddie says, drawing a delighted laugh from Richie. Eddie leans in to catch it on his lips. 

They take Beverly out to dinner to thank her, their choices and measurements tucked away in her padfolio, her name engraved on the cover. “Maybe you should have picked somewhere less conspicuous, your highness,” Beverly says as they’re photographed driving up to the Chateau Marmont for dinner. 

“They’re equipped to deal with the paparazzi,” Eddie says as they get out of his car and he hands his keys over to the valet. “We went to a diner last month and Richie got recognized. It was a mess.” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Richie says. “I never want to see another picture of me eating huevos rancheros through a window again though. One was too many.”

She drops her complaint when they sit down at their table on the patio, surrounded by a peaceful wall of greenery giving them privacy. “Bougie,” she says to Eddie. “Beverly Hills has changed you.”

“It’s a patio, Bev. Do they not have those in Chicago?” Eddie asks over his menu. 

“Oh no, he’s feeling hangry,” Richie says. “We better get some protein in him, stat.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t say meat,” Beverly laughs. 

“Bev please, this is a classy establishment. Eddie will start pinching you under the table like a mom in church if you embarrass him.”

“I will not,” Eddie says. 

“Want to test that?” Richie grins at Beverly.

Eddie doesn’t mind their jokes although he does shush them when they laugh too loudly but he would do that anywhere, it’s rude to the other guests. 

“Look,” Beverly says over the tiramisu they decided to split for dessert. She shows them the headline Ben texted her. “Is Richie Tozier’s fiancé going to model for _Beverly_?” she reads aloud to them. “Well, are you Eds?”

“What?” Eddie asks, blinking at the photo of them getting out of his Escalade, the plates blessedly blurred out. “I’m not a model.” 

“You could be,” Richie says. “Look at that smolder.” 

“There’s no smolder,” Eddie shakes his head, his cheeks heating up. It makes sense that Richie would think that; he’s in love with Eddie, of course he finds him attractive but objectively there’s no way Eddie could be a model. 

“I’d hire you,” Beverly says. “It’s my business now, I can do what I want. You’ve got the brooding face for it.”

“I don’t -”

“You do have a brooding face, Eds,” Richie says. “A handsome brooding face. Look at that bone structure, Jesus.” 

Beverly nods her agreement, studying Eddie’s face in a way she never has before. 

“I’m not modeling,” he says. He hates this, feeling like he’s under a microscope. 

“I’m not going to make you. But I want wedding pictures for my portfolio,” she grins. “And a waiver in case I want to use them for an ad.” 

Eddie agrees even though that’s the definition of modeling. Beverly is a professional fashion designer who runs her own company now and she’s spending her own time and resources to make them wedding suits; she could slap them on a billboard and Eddie would still feel like he owed her a favor. 

When they get home with Beverly they open a bottle of wine and show her the progress on their first dance choreography out on the patio, LA lit up below them, the spring air the perfect temperature. Beverly claps for them when they’re finished and then she gets up and shows Eddie some moves she remembers from her swing dancing class with Richie. Dancing is easier after a couple of glasses of wine, in the low light of their backyard with one of their closest friends; Eddie can’t rely on the wine though, they decided on a dry wedding to erase the temptation for either of them to drink their nerves away. 

* * *

It feels strange to hear Richie’s voice coming from a cartoon but it fills Eddie with pride and excitement to hear him. The show is funny too, on top of it, and the showrunners said they might have his character back next season. “You killed it, sweetheart,” Eddie says, kissing him for his good work. 

“This might be a real fallback,” Richie says, stroking Eddie’s hair as the credits play. “Or a side gig.” 

“You’re good at voices,” Eddie says. “And to think I knew you when they all sounded the same.” 

“They didn’t sound the same,” Richie insists but Eddie isn’t willing to rehash an argument they had when they were eleven. 

“I could sell it as a story to a tabloid,” Eddie teases. “An ‘I knew him when’ story.” 

“Then I’d tell everyone all your embarrassing stories,” Richie counters. 

“No one cares about me,” Eddie says. “I’m no one.” 

He was wrong. People are starting to care about Richie Tozier’s fiancé. The HBO special of Richie’s tour came out to rave reviews and then the guest character on the animated Netflix comedy. He’s getting ‘buzz,’ as Richie calls it. It must be why Eddie’s name finally makes it to a tabloid. Steve texts them about it. _‘I can try to shut this down if you want,’_ he texts, along with the article with Eddie’s full name in it. 

“What do you want to do, Eds?” Richie asks, the two of them lounging in bed, the curtains drawn against the glaring sun of mid-spring. 

“I don’t care,” Eddie decides. “It’s just my name.” He’d feel better if he knew how they got his name but it’s entirely possible it was a reverse image search; there are years worth of public photos of him on Facebook Myra hasn’t deleted. 

“Part of the hazard of marrying a celebrity,” Richie smiles wryly, like he does every time he refers to his own fame. 

“It’s not a big deal. I’m proud to be with you, Rich. People can know my name. You can use it in your routines if you want.” 

It doesn’t stop at his name. Eddie stares at the ‘news’ stories Steve sent them, two full articles from tabloids titled ‘ _Richie Tozier had an affair with a married man_ ,’ and ‘ _Richie Tozier steals woman’s husband, she finally breaks silence_.’ Eddie can’t bring himself to read either, he feels sick just looking at the headlines. 

“My homewrecker ways have finally caught up with me,” Richie says as he reads on his phone. 

“Was it too much to ask that she just fucking let it go?” Eddie asks. If he was smarter he would have had his lawyer draft an NDA to go along with the divorce. Myra never would have signed it. “I’m going to email them. They can’t get away with publishing this bullshit. You call this journalism?” 

“Eddie, darling,” Richie puts down his phone to hold Eddie’s hand, twisting on the couch to face him. “They’re not journalists. They don’t give a shit if what they run isn’t true. It’s about getting clicks. Look at it this way, we’re the reason some tabloid writer gets to pay for Botox this month.” 

“That doesn’t make it ok,” Eddie insists. He feels shaky and upset. Public perception is fickle enough without Myra’s interference. So far Richie has been lucky with his comeback but that could all change in a moment. Now that Eddie is fully aware of it he sees why Richie is so insecure about his career, even now that he’s making it on his own talent. 

“It’s just how things work,” Richie says. “The people who care about this shit already dislike me and my fans won’t give a fuck. It’ll blow over soon anyway, there are more important things going on in the world.” 

“It’s not fair though,” Eddie says, feeling childish for not being able to let it go so easily. 

“Eddie, love of my life,” Richie says and Eddie’s heart flutters embarrassingly, “I’m the one who’s spending the rest of my life with you. A few tabloid stories seem more than fair in exchange for being with you.” 

“You shouldn’t have to -” Eddie starts but Richie cuts him off with a kiss, pulling Eddie closer, making him forget his objection. _This isn’t your fault_ , Richie seems to be saying with his soft touches and Eddie chooses to believe him, straddling Richie’s lap on the couch and kissing him until his worries are gone. Richie’s hands slip under Eddie’s t-shirt, one from Richie’s recent tour, ‘ _I knew there was something…’_ in rainbow letters printed on the chest. Eddie’s fingers go to unbutton Richie’s shirt. 

“One of those articles was really homophobic,” Richie pulls away to say, his hands cupping Eddie’s ass. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie looks down at Richie, his lips slick from kissing, his hair a mess from Eddie running his hands through it. The indignation he feels is at war with his erection straining against his shorts. 

“I’m an evil predator that seduced you away from your loving wife, didn’t you know?” 

“Rich -”

“I know it’s not true,” Richie says. “And it’s definitely not linked to the breakdown of ‘the American marriage,’ whatever that means. But it makes me want to fuck you. As a _fuck you_.” 

“A spite fuck?” 

“I could never fuck you spitefully, Eds,” Richie smiles up at him, stroking Eddie’s thighs now. “It’s a victory fuck. A fuck those idiots fuck. An I love you fuck, but that’s every time we fuck.” 

“Say fuck again.” 

“Fuck?”

“Ok,” Eddie leans down to kiss him again, grinding against the bulge in Richie’s jeans. 

“That’s what did it for you?” Richie asks. 

“No, I just like the way you say it,” Eddie smiles, nips at Richie’s lower lip and sucks it. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Richie groans and Eddie slides off his lap. 

It’s been a while since they’ve fucked with this level of desperation, not since Richie got back from tour. It feels good, the two of them moaning into the kiss, the drag of Richie’s cock in and out making Eddie’s toes curl. 

“Yeah, you like that?” Richie asks, pulling lightly at Eddie’s hair. Eddie moans. “I’m going to fuck the straight out of you.” 

“What?” Eddie laughs breathlessly. “There was no straight to begin with.” 

“Let me have this,” Richie says, sucking at Eddie’s shoulder, out of sight of where his shirt would sit. “My cock is so good it turned you, right?” 

“Yes, and?” Eddie pants. The improv shows Richie has brought him to taught him that much about roleplaying. 

“Good boy,” Richie laughs, his breath soothing the skin he just sucked. “That’s one read of the article. I fucked you so good I made you think you were gay.” 

“Stop thinking about tweets while you fuck me,” Eddie says, digging his short nails into Richie’s back. 

“I love you, Eds,” Richie says, reaching between them to stroke Eddie’s leaking cock. Eddie’s response is swallowed by Richie’s kiss. 

“You can tweet it now,” Eddie sighs when they’re done, his head on Richie’s chest, feeling supremely relaxed, enjoying the dull ache from getting fucked thoroughly. He watches as Richie types out: 

**Breaking News: Richie Tozier’s dick game so good it turns gay man gayer**

“That’s pretty good,” Eddie chuckles approvingly. 

Summer in Southern California is different from summer in New York City. Eddie never knew what people meant when they talked about dry vs. humid heat but now he gets it and he has to say he prefers the dry heat of the West Coast. Having a pool and central air helps too, as does the fact that his work doesn’t have a dress code. The first day he shows up without a suit, opting for a pair of chinos and a pastel blue, short sleeved button-up, he gets so many compliments he feels silly for wearing a suit every day. He doesn’t feel any different at work without the suit, no more competent than he usually feels. Maybe he doesn’t need a uniform to feel worthy of respect anymore. 

No one at work makes any mention of seeing any of the articles, they don’t even look at him differently at lunch and Eddie isn’t sure if it’s because no one saw or because they just don’t care that he was married to a woman before. Eddie wishes he could forget he ever was. He has to bring proof he’s divorced when they pick up their marriage license from the county clerk’s office. He sets the paper on his lap face down, Richie’s hand in his. He doesn’t want to think about Myra today - well, any day but especially not today. Richie can’t stop looking at him, eyes wide as they’re filling out the paperwork and Eddie writes down ‘Edward Tozier,’ in the slot that will legally change his name. 

“You can always change it back if you want,” Richie tells him. 

“I’m never going back to being a Kaspbrak,” Eddie says, leans over and seals the promise with a kiss. 

In lieu of a bachelor party neither of them wants they invite the Losers Club to Catalina Island for the weekend, Patty included. Eddie feels overwhelmed when he spots her sitting on a bench facing the marina, talking with Beverly and Ben. She smiles nervously when Beverly waves at them and says something to Patty. 

“Hello,” she says as Eddie and Richie approach, standing to greet them, a cool breeze coming from the harbor, making the summer day more bearable. “Do you like hugs?” she asks. Eddie immediately loves her. He and Richie both accept her hug.

“How are you?” Eddie asks her. He’s not sure how he’s doing. Seeing her is making his eyes misty with how badly he wishes Stan was here too. 

“I’m alright,” she says, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. She has a gentle voice and a smile to match. “How are the two of you doing? Just a few more days to go until the wedding.” 

“We’re good,” Eddie responds. “Staying sane.” 

“So far,” Richie says. “Eds keeps jolting awake and yelling things like ‘did we confirm the vegan dessert option?’ and ‘does the videographer know which side my good side is?’”

“I didn’t say that about the videographer,” Eddie says. The other one is unfortunately true. 

“Only because you don’t have _a_ good side,” Richie grins at him. “They’re both good.” 

“That was sweet,” Patty says and to Eddie’s surprise Richie blushes. 

Talking to Patty is easier than he thought it would be. He thought he would look at her and only see Stan’s widow but she’s more than that, she’s her own person. “I’m nervous about meeting Bill,” she admits when they get a text from Mike saying they’re close. 

“Why Bill?” Ben asks. 

“He’s not intimidating,” Beverly assures her. 

“I don’t like his books,” Patty admits. “They’re too dark.” 

“Right?” Eddie says, relieved someone feels the same. Patty looks startled at his enthusiastic agreement. “I’ve never finished one.” 

“That’s because you like the literary equivalent of _Matlock_ , old man,” Richie says. 

“What’s wrong with _Matlock_?” Patty asks. 

“Nothing,” Richie says quickly. “It’s just, you know. Not very thrilling?” 

“I like _Matlock_ too,” Ben says. 

“My point was that Bill’s books aren’t for everyone,” Richie says. “And that’s fine. But he’s not a reflection of his books. He’s not some dark, edgy, mysterious man. He’s just Bill.” 

“He’s a loser,” Beverly grins. “Like all of us.” 

“He can be intense, sometimes,” Ben says. “But he’s usually pretty relaxed.” 

Patty doesn’t seem intimidated when Bill and Mike show up, maybe because Bill has to chase down the Lyft because he forgot his bag in the back seat. “Hey,” he pants when he joins them. “I’m Bill. Nice to meet you.” Patty hugs him. 

The Dramamine makes Richie drowsy for the boat ride to Avalon but he doesn’t get sea sick. It’s a shame, Eddie enjoys the ride - the blue of the ocean, the fresh sea air. He’s never been on a boat like this. When Richie said they should charter a yacht instead of taking the ferry or riding in a helicopter Eddie pictured something bigger and fancier but this yacht seems reasonable. It’s choppier than the Staten Island ferry but it’s not unpleasant, except to Richie and Beverly, the two of them sitting inside away from the waves. When the island comes into view Eddie can’t believe it’s part of California. “It looks Mediterranean,” Ben says as they stare at the houses climbing up the hills. Ben is fascinated when they finish their walk down the pier and the town is more in view. He points out all the interesting architectural features; a mix of colonial, Victorian, Spanish, and Mediterranean architecture, which only Mike, Patty, and Bill seem truly interested in hearing about but Eddie appreciates Ben’s passion for the subject. 

The rental house is beautiful and spacious. “How contemporary,” Beverly winks at Ben as they take in the décor. It’s open, good for socializing and it’s on a hill, the ocean beyond the houses. As they split off to claim bedrooms Eddie hopes Patty doesn’t regret going on vacation with Stan’s friends, all of them couples. If it’s strange for her she doesn’t show it, smiling as she rejoins them in the living room. It doesn’t escape his notice that no one has mentioned Stan.

Sitting on the balcony with his friends, old and new, the late summer sun shining on the ocean, Eddie knows they made the right choice. Tahoe and Las Vegas were in the running for this weekend - but looking around at everyone’s smiling faces, maybe there was no wrong decision as long as they could be together. 

“You lived in New York City?” Patty asks Eddie.

“I lived in Queens most of my life. You?”

“I’m from Glointon. It’s upstate.” Eddie has never heard of it. “But I met Stan in the city. At a sorority party. We lived in Brooklyn before we moved to Georgia.” Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He and Stan lived in the same city and never knew it. He wonders if they ever took the subway together, were ever at the same park, Eddie for a run, Stan watching birds, walking with Patty. Would anything have sparked if they saw each other in person? Any flicker of memory, like the one Stan described when he saw Bill’s books? Would it have changed anything? 

Richie laughs. “I’m sorry,” he says when everyone looks at him. “The thought of Stan at a sorority party, just.” 

“He didn’t seem the type,” Ben says.

“I’d love to hear about how you met,” Beverly says and Patty tells them, her voice laced with affection and warmth as she tells the story of how they fell in love. Eddie reaches over to hold Richie’s hand, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat. Patty doesn’t sound regretful or sad about it, her eyes shining but no tears falling. Eddie never would have guessed that Stan was such a romantic. 

“How did all of you meet Stan?” Patty asks them when she’s finished. 

“In elementary school,” Richie says. “He was so shy, I’d do anything to break him and make him smile or laugh. I thought he didn’t like me until I got held after class one day because of my ‘disruptive behavior,’ and he waited for me outside. He asked if I wanted to go to the park with him. It was the first thing I heard him say that wasn’t ‘present’ when the teacher was taking roll call.” 

Eddie and Bill became friends with Stan in elementary school too, because of Richie. Without Richie dragging Stan to the barrens Eddie and Bill might have never gotten to know him. Stan was the quietest kid in school. Eddie feels bad for overlooking him until he came trailing after Richie, who was impossible to ignore, and not just for Eddie. 

“He was so thoughtful,” Beverly says, reminiscing about their trip to the laundromat to wash the bloody rags from cleaning her bathroom. 

It feels good to be doing this, remembering Stan. They haven’t talked about him as a group like this. The feeling of loss is still there, less acute than last year but it feels like they’re filling in the hole he left, memory by memory. Remembering Stan may never be fully painless but for once it’s not tinged with any bitterness on Eddie’s part, no guilt. Richie squeezes his hand, smiles softly when Eddie looks at him.

“Look,” Patty gasps. “A lesser goldfinch,” she points to a bird perched on the edge of the balcony railing. The little bird, it’s bright yellow face and belly facing them, looks at them a moment before taking off, leaving a song in its wake. “Amazing.” 

“Imagine being called a ‘lesser’ anything,” Richie says. “That’s fucking rude. If I was a lesser goldfinch I’d spend my time trying to take out the regular goldfinches.” 

“American Goldfinches don’t typically live this far west,” Patty says. 

“Are you an ornithophile too, Patty?” Mike asks. 

“I wasn’t,” Patty smiles. “Not until Stan.” 

“Wait,” Richie says. “You guys liked to fuck birds?” 

“No!” Patty says, a mortified look on her face.

“That’s not what the ‘phile’ suffix means,” Bill laughs and Patty gives him a look of gratitude. 

Eddie can’t tell if Richie meant it or it was a joke, it’s still hard to tell sometimes. Beverly laughs and Eddie thinks he catches Richie winking at her. His mirth quickly evaporates when Bill and Mike start explaining the etymology of the word. 

“You know,” Patty says as they’re setting the table for dinner, Mike and Ben unpacking the bags with takeout from the seafood restaurant they ordered from. Everything smells amazing. “Stan told me so much about all of you, I feel like I already know you.” 

“He talked about you too,” Beverly says. 

“I thought I was going crazy until I talked to you,” Patty says to Beverly. 

“You’re not crazy,” Bill says. 

“Not anymore than the rest of us,” Richie says. 

“Even…” Patty starts but can’t seem to find the words. Eddie instinctively knows what she’s trying to ask. All of them do. The other thing that links them all with Stan, with each other. 

“Even the clown,” Mike says gently. “It was real.” 

Patty looks horrified. “I didn’t want to doubt him,” she says. “I just can’t...How could something like that exist?” 

“Aliens,” Bill says and Richie laughs, looking embarrassed when everyone looks at him. 

“Sorry. Fucking aliens,” he says. 

“If we hadn’t lived through it,” Ben says, looking around at all of them, “I’m not sure I would believe.”

“I wouldn’t,” Eddie says. 

“Are there...more?” Patty asks, real fear in her eyes as she looks around at them. 

“If there are, they’re not our problem,” Richie says and as selfish as it sounds Eddie agrees with him. They’ve already fought their evil shape-shifting alien, someone else can get the next one - God, he hopes there’s not a next one. 

“It seems improbable,” Mike offers. “That there would be more than one on the same planet.” 

“We only saw one arrive,” Richie says and Mike nods. 

“And we destroyed the eggs,” Ben says. 

“There were eggs?” Patty asks, sitting down at the table. She looks pale. Surrounded by his friends it’s easy for Eddie to forget what they went through isn’t normal. 

“Not anymore,” Beverly says, squeezing her shoulder. 

“We finished It,” Bill says. “It can’t hurt anyone else.” 

“I’m sorry,” Patty says into the silence that follows. “I shouldn’t have - Dinner is getting cold.” 

They all unfreeze to join her at the table, Ben passing out orders. Eddie’s cioppino looks...interesting. He wanted to try something new but maybe this was a wrong decision. “If you don’t like it I’ll share,” Richie says quietly. Eddie likes it but he still has a couple bites of Richie’s seafood pasta. 

“We loved Stan,” Eddie says to Patty as they’re watching the sky darken from the balcony. The town is on the east side of the island, they’ll have a beautiful sunrise view if they can wake up for it. Most of them have travelled from later time zones. He’s sure they’ll show the pictures they take to him and Richie. “He was a really good friend.” 

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “He was one of a kind.” 

“I’m lucky I got to love him too,” Patty says, with no trace of regret. 

Her words keep repeating in his head as he’s falling asleep, his head on Richie’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his warmth on Eddie’s cheek as he sinks into sleep. 

“Hey Stan,” Eddie says. “It’s been a while.” He looks the same as the last time, still handsome, still smiling warmly. The sky is different, new galaxies a kaleidoscope of colors in the distance. If he knew anything about space maybe he’d know where they were but his instinct says no human has ever looked at these worlds before. 

“Hey,” he says. “Almost a year.” He opens his arms and Eddie moves in for a hug. It’s been so long since he’s been disconnected from his body like this but he still feels it, Stan’s warmth, deep in his soul. 

“You still good?” Eddie asks, pulling away to study his face.

“I’m still good,” Stan says. “How have you been?”

“Like you haven’t been watching,” Eddie says although he’s not sure how often Stan is paying attention to him. It’s been a while since he felt like he needed help he wasn’t already seeking. 

“I don’t watch when you’re having sex,” Stan says, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“So you’re asking how it is?” Eddie asks, trying to keep his face deadpan and failing. 

“Yes, Eddie. I pulled you in here to ask how fucking Richie is.”

“It’s great,” Eddie says. “Fantastic. Everything with Richie is great. I...Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Stan smiles at him, bright and open and for the first time Eddie thinks he really does look like an angel. “I’m proud of you, Eddie. I’m proud of all of you.” Eddie can only smile, his chest welling with emotion. “Thank you for inviting Patty. It means a lot. Seeing you all together.” 

“I understand why you love her so much,” Eddie says.

“I knew you would,” Stan says. “Congratulations, by the way. On the wedding, and the new job. You’ve really come into your own.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie says. It’s hard to not reject the praise. He’s been trying though, trying to become the kind of person he wants to be. Most days he feels like he’s succeeding, even when it takes effort. 

“And the cute cat,” Stan says. 

“Can she see you?” Eddie asks and Stan laughs. 

“No,” he says. “When she’s looking at things you can’t see it’s usually bugs you don’t notice. Or nothing. Cats are just like that. I haven’t been playing with your cat,” he adds when Eddie doesn’t look convinced. “I’m not even there that much. I’m not a stalker.” 

“I believe you,” Eddie says. 

“You didn’t answer,” Stan says.

“I’m good,” Eddie says after a moment. “Excited to be married to Richie. Really excited. I don’t know why, it’s just a piece of paper.” This isn’t like his first wedding; he’s not having second thoughts or cold feet. There is a part of him that wonders if they’re rushing things though, the part of him that’s overly conscious of what everyone else might think, the part that tells him there’s an order to things - date for a year, at least, be engaged for a year, then get married. There’s no timeline for life, he knows that now, he’s experienced what trying to follow society's expectations of him does to his happiness, but it still gnaws at him sometimes, the voice telling him he’s doing it wrong, living life wrong. 

“It means more than that,” Stan smiles and Eddie knows he’s right. “It means commitment. Partnership.” Stan’s words fill Eddie with warmth, thinking about everything being married to Richie means to him. 

“And tax breaks,” Eddie says. Stan laughs. 

“It’s romantic,” he says. “You want to show the world that you’re in love and devoted to each other.” 

Eddie wholeheartedly agrees. That’s what he wants. 

It’s all he can think of as they explore the island, how ready he is to tell the world he loves Richie. Hiking with the view of the ocean is beautiful, the smaller, less crowded beaches are lovely, being surrounded by his friends is fun, but all he wants to do is hold Richie’s hand and kiss him and press their bodies close. He only has to wait until Monday evening. They say their goodbyes Sunday afternoon at the marina in Long Beach. 

“I can’t believe you’re kissing me like this before marriage,” Richie says when he pulls away. The kiss they had during the rehearsal on the beach was chaste, both of them struggling to keep their mouths closed, their lips stretched into smiles. “You slut. Are you going to kiss me like that in front of God and my mother tomorrow?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says and Richie laughs joyfully.

“I can’t wait,” he says, his expression warm. He caresses Eddie’s cheek, leans in to give him a softer, lingering kiss.

“I can’t wait either,” Eddie says. 

“Come on boys,” Beverly says. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” 

They part. The next time Eddie sees Richie will be right before they get married. It was Richie’s idea to not spend the night together and Eddie has to admit his initial skepticism was wrong. It’s not a silly tradition. The anticipation and excitement that fills him as he slides into the car with Ben and Bill feels electric. He waves to Richie, Beverly, Mike, and Patty as their car passes them, headed to the resort in Palos Verdes. They visited the resort before during the planning phase but it feels different to drive up to it knowing tomorrow he’ll be married here.

As they’re getting out of their Lyft Eddie receives a text from Maggie; a picture of Lucille napping in the sun room. _‘Thank you for watching her,’_ he texts her. _‘It’s no trouble. Nervous for tomorrow? Lol,’_ she texts back. Eddie laughs like he does every time she sends ‘lots of love.’ _‘Not nervous. Just excited. You?’_ he answers. _‘I’m excited too.’_

Ben and Bill keep him company in the living room of their villa in the evening. He’s glad they’re with him. Eddie feels boneless from the massage at the spa Beverly booked the three of them; a surprise waiting for them at check-in.

“When we were kids did you ever think you’d be marrying Richie Tozier?” Bill asks. 

“No,” Eddie says. There was a time he fantasized about what it would be like to run away with his friends, to hide out in the barrens forever. Maybe hop onto a passing train and see where it took them. Richie had certainly been in those fantasies but there was nothing romantic about them, just childish daydreaming the practical, hopeless, side of him had stomped down because it wasn’t feasible; how would they survive without adults? How would he survive without his mother to feed him and buy him his medication? “Did you ever think you’d be moving to New Orleans to live with Mike Hanlon?”

“No,” Bill laughs. “I couldn’t have predicted anything about my life.” 

“You know I wanted to be with Beverly,” Ben says when they look at him. “I’ve always been in love with her. Knowing her better now, seeing her flaws and strengths, just makes me love her more.”

“This is starting to feel like a sleepover,” Bill says. “Staying up late to talk about our crushes.” 

Except this time Eddie actually has someone he loves, he’s not scrambling to come up with a girl from school who isn’t Beverly who’s nice to look at. He remembers Richie’s indignant ‘Greta Bowie, Eddie? Really?’ the look of disgust on his face when he chose the wrong answer, how Richie’s derision only made him double down on his declared crush. She was pretty, wasn’t she? Wasn’t that enough? She was also a bully. He’s glad his taste in men is better. 

“Isn’t that what it is?” Ben asks, looking at Eddie. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “It’s a sleepover. With room service.” Not the same as Ben’s mom’s pigs-in-a-blanket but it will have to do. 

“Should we prank call our crushes? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a sleepover?” Bill asks, a playful gleam in his eyes. 

“Our sleepovers were always just watching movies or playing games,” Eddie says. “But if you want to call Richie and ask if the refrigerator is running I won’t stop you.” He wonders what Richie is doing with Maggie, Mike, Beverly, and Patty at the house. He should have arranged for something fun waiting for them when they got there, like Beverly did with the massages.

“Or we could watch a movie,” Ben says. “Or get in the hot tub.” They go with Ben’s second idea. 

The night before his first wedding he seriously considered running away. It wasn’t too late to stop the madness, he told himself. Not too late to be brave and call it off. That night he had a hard time sleeping because his stomach was so twisted into knots, his inhaler never leaving his clenched hand. This time he has trouble sleeping because he’s excited to be married to the love of his life. 

There’s not much for him to do before the ceremony. Their wedding coordinator shows up in the morning to assure him the seating is being set up in the ceremony space and the floral table centerpieces and ceremony flowers, a mix of blue, purple, and white hydrangeas and white and purple roses, are being stored in a refrigerator on site. The florist was reluctant to let them use blue hydrangea because she said it represented regret but they both loved the color enough to insist. Eddie does feel regretful, although he didn’t share that with the florist. This should be his first wedding. His only wedding. There’s no changing the past, he’s accepted that, but that doesn’t mean the feelings have gone away. With the help of his therapist he’s better at acknowledging the feelings and letting them pass now. It’s easy to let it go when Beverly shows up with their suits, her hair and makeup already styled beautifully, her bespoke burgundy jumpsuit impeccable. It’s impossible to imagine he’ll ever feel regret again as he’s waiting to walk out to meet Richie under a pergola draped with flowers and fabric swaying in the breeze. 

Richie looks radiant. It takes Eddie a moment to look at all of him, to take in his handsome suit. The fit is perfect and the color looks beautiful on him, accented by the blue of the ocean behind him, but Eddie has a hard time not staring at his face, his smile, his eyes misty as Eddie tries to remember how to walk like a normal person as he approaches down the aisle. Mike and Richie are both standing there, smiling at him. When he passes Maggie in the front row he stops to hug her. She’s smiling through her tears.

“Welcome friends,” Mike says when they’re standing there facing each other and Eddie remembers there are things to do other than stare at Richie. “Please take a seat.” Mike looks devastatingly handsome in his lavender suit. Their mission of making sure no one is watching them too close in case they cry might be a success. 

The ceremony is short. Mike greets everyone, talks about the nature of love, how special Eddie and Richie’s connection is. Eddie heard him rehearse the speech and it was beautiful but today he has a hard time paying attention, his hands in Richie’s, staring back with as much love as Richie is looking at him with. Eddie loves him so much. He’s incredibly lucky and grateful to be standing here. It’s overwhelming but he lets Richie’s hands ground him.

“Eddie, would you like to begin the vows?” Mike asks him, holding the microphone up for him. Eddie nods, not letting go of Richie’s hands.

He clears his throat. “Rich,” he begins, pleased by how steady his voice sounds. His heart is hammering. Richie squeezes his hands. “I’ve never had a relationship like this - one based on mutual love, respect, and trust. My vow to you is that I will work with you, every day, to love, respect, and trust each other. For the rest of our lives. I love you, Rich.” He squeezes Richie’s hands back. Richie’s eyes are watery. 

“Love you, Eds,” he says quietly before Mike switches the mic to him. “Eddie,” he smiles and Eddie is already struggling not to cry. “Love of my life.” Eddie sniffles. “We’re getting a late start to this whole thing but I promise to fit all the years of love we missed out on into the rest of our lives. Plus those years of love too. Love with interest.” There’s some chuckling from the guests. Eddie chuckles too. “I promise to listen when you need me to and to remind you to relax and to kiss you and make you laugh every day.” Eddie can’t hold it in anymore, the tears start to fall and as they do Richie’s do too. “I promise to work hard to give you the relationship you deserve. We deserve,” he corrects himself. “See? I’m working on things. I promise to support you on bad days. I promise to share my successes and my burdens with you. I promise to tell you how I feel every day. Starting today. And I have to tell you, Eds, right now I feel like the happiest, luckiest, richest asshole in the world.”

“ _Rich_ est? Really?” Eddie laughs. His heart has never felt so full before. The guests laugh again and Richie grins, mouthing ‘I love you’ at him.

Mike has to take a moment to wipe his eyes and gather himself before he continues with the exchanging of rings and the kiss, declaring them husband and husband. Eddie didn’t mean what he said yesterday about the kiss but when Richie goes in hard, his tongue seeking entry to Eddie’s mouth, Eddie lets him in, kissing him back just as voraciously. There are whistles from the guests and applause when they finally pull away. Eddie can’t help but laugh, he feels so full of joy it’s brimming over. They sign the license in front of everyone and make it legal, Bill and Maggie signing as witnesses before they make their way down the aisle, followed by the Losers Club. Eddie can’t stop smiling. A year to the day since he woke from his coma and he’s married to the love of his life. Everything is as it should be. 

“Hey, husband,” Richie grins at him. Both of their hands are sweaty but Eddie doesn’t want to stop holding his hand. Eddie’s heartbeat stutters. _Never stop calling me that_ , he thinks. “You’ll never guess what movie was filmed near here.”

“What?” Eddie laughs again. That wasn’t at all what Eddie was expecting him to say. He feels so light. The receiving line went by quickly, a blur of happy faces Eddie didn’t have to fake anything for. 

“ _The Lost Boys_ ,” Richie says. 

“How close?” Eddie checks his watch. He liked the movie alright but Richie loved the movie. If it’s close they can make it before sunset and still take photos before they lose the light. 

“I love you, Mr. Tozier,” Richie says, pulling Eddie in for another kiss.

They take some of their wedding photos on the beach near the Lost Boy’s Lair, and when Richie asks if they can go inside Eddie unties his shoes, slips his socks off and rolls up the legs of his suit. “I’ll go get towels,” Ben says before running off back to the resort. Eddie is grateful, he didn’t think past making Richie happy in the moment. The rocks are rough and the water cold but it feels refreshing on his skin. The cave isn’t that impressive, they just used the exterior in the movie, but Richie looks wowed by it so Eddie is happy to stand there with him, pose for photos at the entrance. The lighting isn’t good but Eddie loves the pictures when the photographer shows them their silhouettes against the warm sunset light coming through the cave’s entrance. 

“Boys, are you lost?” Beverly calls in. “I’m starving, are we done?” 

“We’re done,” Richie calls. Eddie is glad neither of them get too wet climbing back up to the beach or it would make the reception and dance uncomfortable. As it is, Eddie feels like he’s walking on clouds the entire time, even with some sand in his socks. He’s not sure if he tastes dinner, he’s so overwhelmed by the speeches and Richie’s leg pressed against his under the table. Richie’s hands are on his lap, his right hand compulsively touching his wedding ring. Eddie grabs his left hand and pulls it up to plant a kiss on it. 

“We did it,” Richie says as they begin their first dance and Al Green whispers ‘ _let’s stay together_.’ 

“We fucking did,” Eddie confirms. “Husband.” He likes the way that feels. 

“I’m never going to get sick of hearing that,” Richie grins at him. They practiced so much the movements feel like second nature, Eddie isn’t worried about it at all. He feels euphoric. When Richie dips him they kiss to applause again. Public displays of affection finally make sense to him. 

Eddie would like to pretend shoving cake in each other’s faces was spontaneous but it was planned. “Do we get to cake each other?” Richie asked when they were taste testing cakes. “You probably don’t want to, huh?” he added. Eddie decided he wanted to on the spot. It never looked fun to him but he was wrong, it is fun. He can’t stop laughing, not until Richie kisses him. It’s messy but Richie tastes like sugar and Eddie loves it. 

The perk of having a dry wedding is the next day there’s no hangover, just sweet bliss as Eddie kisses Richie awake. “Let’s order room service and eat it in robes,” Eddie murmurs sleepily into Richie’s neck. They have a few hours before they have to leave for the airport, they might as well enjoy the room.

“Before or after we fuck?” Richie asks, stroking Eddie’s bare shoulder. “The honeymoon doesn’t have to start in Mexico.” Eddie agrees, the honeymoon begins now, their already naked bodies pressed together under the sheet. 

The photos of the resort in Playa del Carmen didn’t do it justice. Everything is beautiful and peaceful, Eddie hardly feels the jetlag. 

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” Richie asks as they sit on the beach, the water so clear and blue it seems unreal. 

Eddie wiggles his toes in the sand, margarita in hand. Not as big as either of their heads but still delicious. “Better,” he says, leaning in to kiss his husband. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciated everyone who left encouragement while I was working on this! I hope it was enjoyable and you had a good time. Also if anyone wants to see what I was picturing Lucille looking like, [ she looks like my cat Fenris.](https://twitter.com/satorumiyuki/status/1348769782942732288?s=20) You can look at the wedding [location here.](https://www.google.com/search?q=terranea+resort+wedding&newwindow=1&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS807US809&sxsrf=ALeKk017ZrxoRlKtSaIZYuReAqg9ZfiCcg:1610741524250&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj1toLj357uAhV8ETQIHVL4CEIQ_AUoAXoECB0QAw&biw=1920&bih=969) The name of the honeymoon location is Banyan Tree Mayakoba.


End file.
